Behind Closed Doors
by Kat097
Summary: Modern day. Christine is a woman showing a mask to the world. But soon she's going to meet someone who is going to make it difficult for her to keep her true self behind closed doors. Leroux based with musical elements.
1. Prologue

**Characters are property of Gaston Leroux. I merely manipulate them for my own enjoyment. **

**Behind Closed Doors**

As you walk down the street, you may find that you can't often look at a person and know them. Perhaps you can look at two people holding hands and be able to say that they love each other. You may be able to look at a woman with a couple of small children and say that she is a mother. But you cannot look them in the face and say who they are.

Everyone in this world wears a painted face. It is fixed to a mood, to an expectation, to whatever it is that they use to get through another day in their grey lives. And then they go home and close their doors and then, maybe, the true person emerges.

The woman walked down the street and paused to let the mother and children past. One child looked at her with large grey-blue eyes before hurrying onwards, begging her mother for sweets which were refused. The woman continued on her way. A group of teenagers, some clutching cigarettes and wearing caps pulled low over their faces strolled past, talking and laughing raucously. The woman didn't look at them.

It began to rain, the sky overcast with grey clouds and dark dots appearing on the cold concrete beneath her feet. The woman carried on towards her destination, taking a shortcut through the park. It was deserted as the rain grew heavier. The wind was chill and shot through her expensive coat. She tightened her grip on the bag in her hand, not wanting to get the contents wet.

The wind threw back her hood and a flood of blonde curls flew free. The woman sighed and tried to pull her hood back up but the wind was too strong. She kept walking swiftly, her hair and face becoming soaked in the pouring rain. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but refreshing. She turned her face up to the darkened sky, smiling sweetly at the freedom that came with the washing away of her painted face.

If you were to have walked past at that moment and seen her without her mask, you would have seen a young woman in her twenties, bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, a slim figure dressed in expensive clothes standing in the rain with a lifted face and delighted smile. You would have known then that she was not the cool, collected figure that she cut through in her everyday life. You would have known that that facade was nothing more than protection.

You would have known that she was only human.

She finally realised that she had been standing there for several minutes and was now soaked through. She began to walk hurriedly through the park, emerging through the gates on the far side and turning onto a road. After walking for nearly fifteen minutes she reached a pair of wrought irons gates. They were open and she walked up the luxuriously wide driveway towards the large and beautiful house at the end. Warm light spilled from the windows, cutting a cosy image of what lay inside.

She reached the front door and took out a set of keys. After selecting the correct piece, she slid it into the lock and turned, stepping through the open door and closing out the cold, wet world outside. She removed her coat and hung it up, placing her bag on a nearby table. A door opened and she turned to see a middle-aged man in smart dress emerging from the room. He bowed slightly to her.

"Mrs de Chagny. Would you care for anything?"

"Some tea, please. I'll take it in the living room."

"Of course."

"Is my husband back yet?" She asked, removing her shoes and stepping into a pair of dry slippers.

"In the study, Mrs de Chagny."

"Thank you, Matthews." She stepped across to the dark wooden door of the study and opened it without knocking as she went to greet Raoul.

To the world she was Mrs de Chagny.

Behind closed doors, she was Christine.

**A/N: Another new story! This one is, hopefully, going to be very different from my others. For a start, it's going to be primarily Leroux based. I also want to write something grittier and more realistic, and possibly darker as well. We'll see, eh? I know this prologue is insanely short, but please review anyway and tell me how I'm doing thus far. I'm always scared to start a new story!**

**Love**

**Katie**


	2. Chapter 2

**Behind Closed Doors**

Raoul was still sleeping when Christine left that morning. She bent over the bed and kissed him swiftly on the cheek before leaving the elegant room that served as their bedchamber. It was a beautiful room, decorated in cream and blue and silver with expensive pine furniture. Almost everything in their home was expensive, for Raoul would only have the very best for himself and his adored wife.

"We can afford it, so we're having it." He had said firmly when they were first wed. That had been three years previously and since then, Christine had grown accustomed to his way of seeing and doing things. She dressed a certain way, did things in a particular fashion and was always a picture of elegance and dignity. She had done this for two reasons. The first was that she loved her husband dearly. The second was that her job required her to be a figure of importance and how she looked a statement.

Her job was one of importance to both herself and to Raoul. The de Chagny family was well-known for its wise investments and clever business moves. Whilst the family was involved in such activities as industrial produce and were also partners in a highly successful law firm that was based in America, manned by Raoul's elder brother, Philippe, they had, around two years previously, become patrons of the prestigious Opera Populaire. The opera house had fallen upon hard times and had been on the verge of closing when Christine had read of their plight in a local newspaper. She had immediately implored Raoul to fund the ailing business and he had agreed, unable to deny her this that she so desired.

In short, Christine had taken up place as supreme manager of the Opera Populaire after the de Chagny family had made the investment, which had been of great worriment to Philippe. But their gamble had paid off and the Opera Populaire was now a place of great artistic value and culture for the area. Christine was primarily responsible for the intake of money and for the upkeep of the opera house. Her job was arduous and she often felt swamped in the business.

But to be so close to the sweet music and thrilling world that was the opera, her labour was a small price to pay. Christine often walked around the opera house, pretending to be inspecting and making note of everything that was going on. In truth, however, she was lost within the rich music and bustling activity. She would stand and watch the dancers as they glided across the stage, arms and legs and impossibly beautiful angles as they spun and leapt and soared. She would listen with the greatest pleasure to the orchestra as they rehearsed, taking in every note from every instrument and being impossibly thrilled by the sensation. She would listen to the singers, from the chorus with their stunning blend of voices, to the tenors with their beautifully deep tones. She would listen to the leading soprano, a beautiful woman named Carlotta Guidacelli with an equally stunning voice.

Christine took in all of these sensations like an addict, constantly craving the beauty and longing to be part of it. But instead, she simply looked and listened. To an outsider, she was coolly contemplative, listening indifferently and watching with the eyes of a businesswoman, who wanted to make a mint on their next production.

In truth, she probably loved music more than most of the people who worked in the Opera Populaire.

On this particular day, Christine was sat in her office, reading through the mail that had arrived that morning. She took out her hand-held computer and made a list of the replies she would need to make, in order of urgency. Most of it was very insubstantial information, but would cause terrible offence if it wasn't replied to immediately. She sighed and reached for the final envelope, slitting it open with the blade of her letter opener. Another application for a dancing position that wasn't open. The Populaire received countless CV's and letters everyday and most of them were put into a folder and never looked at again. Christine didn't deal with this sort of thing, but occasionally one ended up in her office. She read briefly through the list of qualifications. Relatively interesting but nothing groundbreaking. She stood and walked around her desk to go and place it in the file room.

As she strolled along the corridor, a couple of dancers passed her.

"Good morning Mrs de Chagny." One said brightly.

"Good morning." Christine replied swiftly. She didn't know the girl's name. The pair continued on, gossiping about the other dancers and giggling. Christine turned a corner and found herself at the door to the file room. She pushed open the door and glanced around at the countless cabinets of information. She wandered along until she found the right one for this particular letter and slipped the pieces of paper inside. Another dream put to an abrupt halt.

Christine decided to go to the main theatre and see how rehearsals were going. The marble corridors were deserted, signalling that the rehearsal had started. The hollow clicking of her heels on the floor echoed around her. She was wearing a black skirt and blazer, with a plain white blouse underneath it. Her blonde hair was tied back and clipped up out of the way. She wore a light layer of mascara but no other make-up. Raoul had told her that she was too lovely to wear make-up and, if truth be told, he was right. Whenever she'd tried to add a little more she'd ended up looking clownish, something that had caused her more than a little annoyance.

She pushed open a side door and stood near the back of the theatre, watching the rehearsals. A stressed looking gentleman was attempting to situate the singers and dancers on the stage. His name was Mr Mercier, with dark grey hair, a thick moustache and an eternally beetroot-toned face. The orchestra were talking amongst themselves whilst they waited, only to be scolded by Mr Reyer, the conductor. Two further men were sat in one of the rows, pointing to various people and muttering or shaking their heads. These two were Mr Armand Moncharmin and Mr Firmin Richard, the two under-managers. Neither of them had a musical bone in their bodies but they were, at least, capable enough to manage thins without bothering Christine all day. Richard caught sight of Christine standing alone and leapt to his feet, waving her over to join them. She did so and Moncharmin beamed at her.

"Mrs de Chagny, everything is perfectly under control."

"So I see, Mr Moncharmin." Christine said. "Although I might be slightly more convinced if the rehearsals were actually underway."

"A few minor setbacks."

"We can't really afford setbacks at this late stage. This opera opens in a fortnight and it must be perfect." Christine said firmly. She folded her arms and watched as the performers scurried to their opening places. Moncharmin and Richard exchanged anxious glances as the music began and Christine observed with a critical eye.

After ten minutes she glanced at the pair.

"I'll be in my office." Moncharmin watched as she walked away and then turned to his colleague.

"Perhaps we should tighten up rehearsals. Ensure that they run more smoothly."

"You read my mind." Richard replied.

* * *

Most of Christine's day comprised of going over tedious paperwork. She sighed heavily, which did nothing than break the quiet air for a moment, before reaching for her coffee cup. The dark liquid was now cold. Christine put the mug down again and looked up as there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Mrs Giry entered. The ballet mistress was a strict looking woman, with long hair in a tight plait and a lined face. These lines, and the few grey hairs in the plait, were the only signs of her age for her movements were limber and smooth.

"Mrs Giry, what can I do for you?" Christine asked, putting down her pen. Giry stood opposite her desk and said calmly,

"I need permission to hold auditions."

"Auditions?"

"Two of the ballet girls had just informed me that they are taking their leave. An opportunity has arisen for them to attend RADA and obviously I cannot deny them the chance."

Christine sighed.

"No, of course not. I assume you'll be able to find a couple of girls and train them in time for the opening night?"

"I will, Mrs de Chagny." She sounded almost insulted at Christine's doubt. "If possible, I'll hold them on Saturday afternoon in the dance studio. I also need permission to look into the files."

"Go ahead. Anything you need. Just make sure that they're ready." Christine said, picking up a sheet of paper and scanning it. Giry nodded and then looked at her closely. She paused for a moment before asking,

"You were watching rehearsals this morning, Mrs de Chagny?"

"For a few minutes, yes." Christine said, not looking up.

"What did you think?"

She paused, and then met Mrs Giry's eye.

"From what I saw, it was going well. I wouldn't expect anything less than perfection, but I'm afraid that there is still a lot of work to be done."

"Hmm." Giry made a non-committal noise and then inclined her head. "I shall begin organising the auditions. Will you come to observe them?"

"I might. I'll have to check my calendar first." Christine replied. Giry left the room and Christine tapped a pen slowly on the desk, considering the auditions. Perhaps she would go and watch them. She liked having a vague idea of who was working in her opera house. Of course, she knew the basics. She could recite by heart the number of stagehands, how many in the chorus, how many dancers there were.

She knew very few by name, though.

The telephone rang shrilly, breaking her from her reverie. She picked it up and smiled as she heard a familiar voice.

"Hello Raoul. What's wrong?"

"Does there have to be something wrong for me to call the love of my life?" He sounded hurt, but she saw through it immediately. Christine pulled a blank piece of paper and began to doodle on it as they spoke. She described what she had seen of the rehearsal and then asked him about his day.

"Very dull, I won't bore you with the details." He replied cheerfully. She heard someone talking in the background and he replied. "I've got to run. I'll pick you up at five?"

"I don't mind walking, Raoul."

"Well, I do. I don't want my gorgeous wife walking around where anyone can lust after her. Call me selfish, but I prefer to keep you all to myself." He said firmly. Christine smiled and said,

"Fine. I'll see you at five."

"Good. I love you." His voice softened slightly at the last three words.

"I love you too." She replied quietly before placing the phone slowly back into the cradle. Her light blue eyes went to the silver frame on her desk. Encased in it was a picture of herself and Raoul, taken on their honeymoon. They were young and carefree and led beautifully simple lives. Christine adored Raoul, but she felt as though she had become older than her years in their marriage. She sometimes wished that they could go back to those sweet and easy days. But she couldn't exactly complain. Her life was comfortable and full of love. How many people could even claim to have that much?

* * *

Raoul de Chagny leant against his car, waiting for his wife. Rehearsals had ended half an hour previously but gaggles of people still emerged, chattering excitedly and laughing amongst themselves. A couple of ballet dancers were perched on the rails by the entrance, talking. He looked through his dark glasses at them before turning his attention back to the door. Dressed in a dark, well-cut suit, his tie was now flung in the back seat of his car. He refused to wear them unless it was absolutely necessary. His blonde hair was cut stylishly short, his face was clean-shaven and he was undeniably attractive, causing more than one woman passing to throw him an appreciative look up and down before moving on.

His mouth spread into a handsome smile as Christine stepped from the building. She returned the smile and stepped lightly down the flight of steps to the car. He tossed her bag into the car and then pulled her close for a kiss, his hands on her waist. She smiled and said,

"Ready to go?"

"Absolutely." He agreed, holding the door open for her. She grinned.

"What a gentleman."

"For you, nothing less." He said, closing the door and circling the car to climb into the driver's seat.

The two dancers by the top of the stairs watched the car drive away.

"Don't they make an amazing couple?"

"They look like models." Her friend agreed. "It's a pity. He's so gorgeous!"

"Tell me about it!" Meg laughed, swinging her legs idly. "But they're so into each other. We haven't got a chance."

"And Mrs de Chagny _is_ a good manager. Remember Mr Poligny? Urgh!" Jammes pulled a face at the elderly ex-manager. "At least Mrs de Chagny vaguely knows what music should sound like. Even Moncharmin and Richard don't know what they're doing if it doesn't involve money."

"I suppose so." Meg glanced at her watch. "I think Mum's working late tonight, trying to sort out those auditions. Want to get something to eat?"

"Sure, I'm starving." The pair set off in search of refreshments, dropping down the steps and gossiping their way towards the street. But their comments had not gone unheard.

* * *

After dinner that night, Christine and Raoul retired to the sitting room. The room was filled with dark furniture and boasted an emerald décor. A brightly burning fire illuminated the grate as Christine read on the sofa and Raoul spoke on the telephone to his brother about business, strolling the room. A servant came in, carrying a silver tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He placed it on the table and left without a word. Christine marked her place in the book and poured the rich liquid into the glasses, passing one to Raoul, who smiled his thanks.

"Yes, I've sorted all of that out. Christine is here, if you want to talk to her about the Populaire? Uh huh…" He put a hand over the speaker and spoke to Christine, "He just wants a quick word about the Gounod."

"Of course."

She reached for the telephone and struck up conversation about Gounod's _Romeo and Juliet_, the new opera. She wisely chose not to mention the auditions, as this would only cause her brother-in-law undue stress. After assuring him that the opera would be a marvellous success, she said goodbye and put the phone down. Raoul grinned and sat on the sofa beside her, pulling her close to him.

"You sound very positive about this opera."

"It'll be fine, they always are. I need to go in on Saturday, though. Antoinette Giry is holding auditions for a couple of new dancers."

"That sounds worrying." Raoul commented, caressing her light curls. She smiled.

"It's nothing to worry about. She's assured me that they'll be ready in time. Besides, your brother isn't coming back for the opening night."

"He's not?"

"Not, but he'll be back in a month's time for a week or so." Christine explained. Raoul tapped her nose.

"Change the subject. I don't want to talk about work all night."

Christine smiled and wriggled so that she was lying with her head in his lap.

"Fine. Strike up a conversation piece and we'll discuss it to your heart's content." She said. Raoul considered carefully before saying,

"I think we should go away. Not right now, not with the opera so close and me finishing up on this business deal. But maybe in a few months. We could get away; maybe go to the villa in Greece. Or anywhere you want, really." He said, still stroking her hair with a loving hand. Christine looked up at him and then smiled.

"That sounds wonderful, Raoul."

"I thought so too."

"I don't know what I did to deserve someone as good as you." She sighed lightly, closing her eyes. Raoul grinned.

"You seduced me with your charm and beauty."

"And a red scarf?"

"Oh yes. I never would have married you, if it weren't for that scarf." He teased. Christine smiled but didn't open her eyes. Raoul continued to stroke her blonde curls. She was so… perfect. He knew very well what image she portrayed to the people at the opera house. An ice queen, no friends to speak of, no contact with anyone unless it was for business. He knew the real Christine. The sweet, charming, endearing girl that she truly was.

He picked up his wine and sipped it, allowing the berry-filled liquid to flood his mouth as he watched the fire dwindle in the hearth and Christine drifted into comfortable slumber.

**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews! I hope you liked this chapter. I just wanted to establish Christine and Raoul as a couple and Christine's place in the opera house before I get on with the main plot. And, yes, this will be Erik/Christine but there is going to be a lot of Raoul/Christine too. Because, now I've written it, I can't help but think that they make an adorable couple! I hope I'm sticking with Leroux here, although there are a few movie/musical references. That's because I just prefer Giry as a ballet instructor and sometimes I just feel the need to mix it up a bit, if you know what I mean. Leroux doesn't always work in a modern context and ALW doesn't either. Hopefully, by mixing them around, I'll be able to get it just right.**

**Love**

**Katie**


	3. Chapter 3

**Behind Closed Doors**

On Friday morning, Christine arrived at the opera house to find a group of ballet girls gossiping loudly in the lobby, already clad in exercising clothes but not looking as though they were in any hurry to actually go and dance. One of them, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair, turned to her quickly.

"Mrs de Chagny, Mr Moncharmin is looking for you."

"Thank you…"

"Meg Giry." Meg smiled. She looked about the same age as Christine and seemed to have a permanent smile fixed on her face, lighting up her green eyes.

"Antoinette Giry's daughter?" Christine asked.

"Yes, that's me. Anyway, Carlotta's having a tantrum and demands to see you immediately." Meg shrugged. Christine breathed heavily and went to put her bag in her office before facing the Prima Donna. Just as she was emerging from her office, Richard came around the corner, looking deeply troubled.

"Mrs de Chagny, Miss Guidacelli is insisting that she speak with you."

"Mr Richard, you and Mr Moncharmin are _paid_ to handle this sort of thing, so I don't have to." Christine reminded him sharply as she began to walk swiftly to the theatre, Richard at her heels.

"I know, Mrs de Chagny. Moncharmin and I have been trying to reason with her but she refuses to speak with us. She says that we are 'totally incompetent'. She wants you."

Carlotta Guidacelli was, generally, a rather agreeable person. She sang amazingly, could act perfectly, was stunningly beautiful and was hard-working, amongst other things. Christine held a great deal of respect for her talent, but the areas that that respect did not spread to were Carlotta's pride and paranoia. The singer seemed to be eternally in fear of being replaced as the leading soprano. In such a cut-throat business perhaps she had cause to be so paranoid, but it caused no end of trouble for the managers of the Opera Populaire. Christine had no intentions of getting rid of her, but Carlotta's mistrust never swayed.

Christine sighed and opened the door to the theatre. Everyone was stood around, watching and muttering as Carlotta shrieked at Moncharmin. She saw the manager enter and turned immediately.

"I _refuse_ to work in these conditions! It is completely unreasonable!"

"And what conditions are those, Miss Guidacelli?" Christine said calmly. Carlotta's face was a deep hue of scarlet as she replied.

"I have just been informed that there are _auditions_ being held for new cast members! I have been at this opera house for eight years! I will _not_ be replaced! I have a contract!" Christine pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a dull pounding in her forehead. This sort of thing happened all too often. Gossip flew around the opera house, passing from dancers to stagehands to singers, growing more extravagant with each person. It was extremely tiresome, especially when she ended up being the one who had to deal with the consequences. She met Carlotta's eye.

"Miss Guidacelli, you are quite mistaken. Auditions are being held tomorrow for a couple of dancers, as two of them have left us. There are no changes to the cast and you are not going anywhere. And, as I have previously informed you, I would appreciate it if you took any concerns to Mr Moncharmin and Mr Richard from now on. It's what they're here for and I have far more important things to deal with right now."

Carlotta's glare went unnoticed as Christine turned to Mr Reyer and told him to carry on with the rehearsals. There was a stony silence as the blonde woman left the room before the gasps and whispers began. Carlotta merely stormed away to her dressing room, her auburn hair falling from its elaborate style and her brown eyes filled with rage.

* * *

It was not a good morning. For Christine, everything seemed to be going wrong at once. By lunchtime she had had to reorganise three interviews for the cast, knocked her coffee cup over a pile of freshly finished paperwork and crashed her computer twice. And then, as though to put a line under the whole sorry affair, she realised that she had forgotten her lunch.

Sighing, she reached for her bag, intending to cross the street to the café. The phone rang just as she was leaving and she paused to see who it was on the machine. Raoul's voice issued from the speaker and she picked it up quickly.

"I'm here."

"Good. Do you want a lift home?"

"I was planning to stay a bit late today, actually." Christine said, glancing at the paperwork that would now have to be redone.

"Oh, that's fine. Why don't I pick you up at around seven and take you to dinner somewhere?" He offered. Christine smiled.

"That sounds wonderful. I'll be able to tell you just how terrible my day has been."

They spoke for a couple more minutes and then Christine left her office. She walked swiftly down the steps outside the opera house, slipping her jacket off in the warm air. It was late spring and the sunshine was bordering on summer heat. The pavement was scattered with delicate pink petals, falling in a steady stream from a row of trees. Christine stood amongst them as she waited for a break in the cars. After a green Volkswagen had streamed past, she crossed the road and pushed open the glass door to the café. Several other people from the opera house were dotted around, eating and drinking as they discussed the morning's work. Christine went to the counter and examined the selection of sandwiches in the glass-fronted case. A dark-haired girl in an apron smiled helpfully at her.

"What can I get for you?"

"The chicken salad sandwiches and a bottle of water, please." Christine decided. Whilst everything was being packed into a white paper bag, she leant on the surface and watched the other customers silently.

"Hi Mrs de Chagny!" said a cheerful voice. Christine glanced around and saw Antoinette Giry's daughter beaming at her.

"Hello Miss Giry." She replied politely. The girl waved a hand carelessly.

"Oh, call me Meg. Everyone does. Want to join me and Jammes for lunch? We've just ordered."

"I'm afraid I can't, I've got a lot of work to catch up on." Christine replied, feeling a tiny stab of regret. She picked up her bag and offered a small smile. "I'll see you later today. I'll be dropping at rehearsals."

"Sure, no problem. See you." Meg trotted back to her friend. Christine carried her bag out of the shop, rather wishing that she _had_ gone to sit with them. But, for some reason, she had never felt really comfortable amongst other people. She always felt as though she were invading and was unwanted, even if she had been invited.

Sat in her office, she slowly at the sandwich, washing mouthfuls down with water from the clear bottle. Her eyes were fixed on the computer screen as she finalised the advertising plans and emailed the company to organise it. _Romeo and Juliet _was the sixth production the company had put on since she had taken over as manager. All of them had been raging successes and she would not allow this to be anything less than that.

* * *

It took several hours of constant work before Christine finished enough work for her to feel not guilty about going to watch rehearsals for half an hour. There was still a considerable pile left, but she had enough time left to finish that before Raoul arrived.

She took a seat at the back of theatre and watched as Carlotta and Piangi played out the role of the two star-crossed lovers. Carlotta appeared to have overcome her outburst earlier in the day and was playing the role of the young lover with sweet passion. Christine watched her wistfully. Her movements were filled with astonishing grace and longing. The piece came to an end and Reyer signalled for them to continue onto the next act. Reluctantly, Christine made her unenthusiastic return to her office, only to find an envelope lying on her keyboard. She frowned at it. She had already sorted the mail for that day and didn't appreciate someone wandering into her office to deliver a late piece.

Christine turned on her playlist and let the calming notes of Chopin wash over her as she picked up the envelope. It was merely labelled _For the Manager_. The handwriting was scrawling and uncultured. Christine turned it over and lifted the flap, tearing the paper slightly as she did so. Inside was a single piece of paper with the words;

_Dear Madame Manager_

_My apologies for disturbing you at this busy period in production. However, it has come to my notice that there are certain performers within this opera house who would do better to remain within their dressing rooms, rather than pollute the stage with their rages. Might I suggest that instead of adhering to Mademoiselle Guidacelli's demands, you try and behave as a manager should and treat her as an employee, rather than an employer?_

_Your Most Humble Servant_

The note was unsigned. Christine stared at it, open-mouthed. Not only had someone waltzed into her office without permission, they had actually had the audacity to leave an extremely rude, anonymous note! Christine pursed her lips and pushed the note back into the envelope, tossing it to one side as she returned to her work, her mood noticeably poorer.

* * *

He watched as a young man strolled through the corridors of the opera house, heading towards the office of the young manageress. She had not been overly impressed with His note. To be perfectly honest, He hadn't expected her to be. He waited in His hiding place as the two exchanged a fond kiss and spoke briefly, as the young woman packed her bag and frowned, glancing around.

"What's wrong?" He heard the husband ask as she lifted papers on her desk.

"My keys… the ones for the offices and the storerooms. I can't find them." She said, pushing things around anxiously.

"Richard or Moncharmin probably picked them up and forgot to put them back. Come on, our reservations are for half past."

"This is just so typical of my day." The blonde woman sighed heavily. Her husband put an arm around her waist, guiding her towards the day.

"Leave it, Christine. Just put it behind you, come and have dinner and start tomorrow from scratch. You're coming in for the auditions, aren't you?"

The two disappeared and He waited until He was certain that they were gone before moving from His hideaway, a small bunch of keys clasped between long, bony fingers. He moved swiftly through the opera house, not bothering to dart out of the view of the security cameras. If anyone checked them they would find that the power had 'accidentally' been shorted and no images captured.

He stopped outside the file room He had seen the manager enter several times that week. After glancing at the door, He selected a key and slid it silently into the lock. It turned with a satisfying click and He opened the door. Several rows of steel filing cabinets greeted Him, their icy grey colour reflected by the dim light coming from a high-up window. He slipped along one until He reached a cabinet labelled **Personnel**.

The folders within proved to be rather interesting. The names, addresses, resumes and references of every member of staff, from that Carlotta woman to the caretakers. But He was only mildly interested in them. He had His eyes on one person in particular and hunted through until he found the right file.

_Chagny, Christine de_.

After all – one had to know whom one was dealing with.

* * *

The auditions for the new dancers were to start at midday. Christine arrived at the opera house at a quarter to eleven. Antoinette Giry was already in the dance studio with Meg, instructing her on her adagio. Christine paused in the doorway to watch the girl spin gracefully, her feet barely seeming to touch the floor. Giry caught sight of Christine and signalled for Meg to stop.

"Mrs de Chagny."

"I didn't realise you would be here so early." Christine commented. "I'll let you carry on."

"I was just warming up. I'm going to be leading the audition!" Meg said cheerfully. Giry eyed her.

"You will be an example of the training and perseverance required. Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Christine smiled slightly at their repartee, before saying that she would be in her office until the auditions started. Before she even left the room, Meg had begun to dance again, as though it were impossible for her not to. Christine walked slowly to her office, vaguely trying to think where she had left her keys. It was possible that Raoul had been right, and Richard or Moncharmin had the keys. However, it was also possible that she had left them lying around somewhere.

But when she reached her office and went to take off her jacket, the little bunch of keys was sitting quite clearly on her desk. Christine looked at them suspiciously for a moment. They _hadn't_ been there yesterday. She had looked all over her desk. She sighed and picked them up.

"I'm going mad." She muttered, slipping them into her pocket and sitting down to do some work.

There were a dozen young women who appeared in hopeful nature for the auditions. He watched from an air vent. Not the most comfortable of places, but one that provided an ideal view. Whilst the building of the Opera Populaire was old, certain modern pieces had been added to improve the comfort of the structure. From His hiding place, He could survey the dancers, the Giry woman who was providing herself to be a most able ballet mistress and, standing in one corner, Mrs Christine de Chagny. He smirked slightly. Oh, yes. He knew all about this young woman. All of her personal details, everything He would need in order to bring His plan into reality.

He turned His attention to the dancers. They had finished warm up and were being called forward, one at a time to perform the same piece that the Giry girl had shown them in example just moments before. She had performed well, He noted. There was definite talent in those limbs and that mind. He would keep an eye on her.

Some of the dancers were, in a word, dreadful. Unable to overcome their nerves, they stumbled and fell, missing steps and notes. Others performed perfectly. He quickly narrowed it down to the two girls who would be chosen. One was a plain but graceful girl by the name of Cecile and the other was a limber young woman with straw-coloured hair by the name of Gabrielle. Both had performed not only with all the requirements but with an added enthusiasm and a prettiness of movements that secured them places. He noted, with amusement, that Giry had turned to discuss the results with the manager, who clearly had no idea of how the piece should be performed. However, Christine merely said,

"I trust your judgement completely, Mrs Giry."

Sure enough, Cecile and Gabrielle were asked to stay behind. Both looked nervous but hopeful and both, much to His chagrin, squealed like stuck pigs when they were informed that they were the two new employees of the Opera Populaire. The de Chagny woman waited until the dancers had all left before bidding good day to Antoinette Giry and locking the studios.

He followed her back to her office, where she picked up her bag and jacket, checked once again (rather amusingly in his opinion) that her keys were still in her pocket, and left. He slid from the vent onto the floor of her office and examined the contents of her desk before looking around the office. There was a mirror on one side of the room and He caught a glimpse of His reflection. He saw dark clothing, a long leather jacket, dark hair that reached his chin, a black mask that covered His entire face, leaving the mouth and chin exposed.

He sneered at the reflection and sat down in her chair, turning on her computer. He had the rest of the day and night free to explore every detail of Mrs de Chagny's life. Before He made His next move, He wanted to know just who He was dealing with.

**A/N: My goodness, there's actually a plot beginning to unwind here! Thank you all for the lovely reviews; they were all very much appreciated. RADA, for those asking, is the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. **

**Here is Erik. Enjoy him. I know, I know Erik is, technically, without hair. At least, I don't think he had hair in Leroux. But I really think it's tough on him to be horribly deformed AND bald. So I gave him some hair. More of him coming up, but I like his little mystery thing he's got going on here. So expect more of that.**

**Love and appreciation**

**Katie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Behind Closed Doors**

The dull, consistent thudding in her head was slowly but surely driving Christine to insanity. She sat at her desk, rubbing at her forehead, willing the ache to go away. It didn't, of course. If anything, the pain increased. She sighed and reached into her desk drawer for a couple of aspirin. She swallowed them quickly with water, brushing the white, chalky residue from her fingers. It had been over a week since the auditions. The opening night of _Romeo and Juliet_ was now mere days away and everything that could have gone wrong, had. Props had fallen, costumes had torn, ankles had twisted, voices had cracked, instruments had screeched and tantrums had been thrown.

She glanced at the computer screen, where she had been typing out an extremely important email before her headache had dawned. She saved it and turned off the screen, sitting in perfect silence for several minutes. She wanted nothing more than to pick up her bag and coat and go home, to go up to her bedroom, draw the curtains and lie in cool darkness. Not that she could, not with so much to do. In fact, the only positive thing about the past week was that nobody had been wandering into her office. Probably because Christine had now taken to locking the door.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Christine said, wishing that they'd just go away. The door opened and Richard popped his head in, his moustache bristling agitatedly. Christine almost wondered if the hairy lip had a life of its own, it was always moving.

"Mrs de Chagny, there's a reporter from _The Notice_, he'd like a word with you. And yes, we told him that we could handle it, but he wants to talk straight to you." Normally Christine would have told Richard to inform the reporter that she was occupied in a meeting. But today, she just couldn't be bothered with the hassle of him coming and back and forth with the replies.

"Fine, I'll be out in a moment." She murmured. Richard nodded and disappeared. Christine brushed her hair back out of her face and glanced at the clock. She stood and straightened her skirt before closing the office door behind her to go and meet with the reporter.

The person stood in the entrance hall to the theatre was a dark-skinned man, with intense eyes and short black hair. He was dressed smartly and was examining the décor of the lobby with piercing glances, ignoring the various performers who waltzed through. Christine walked to him.

"Can I help you, sir?" She said civilly.

"I'm just waiting for the manager, thank you." He replied politely, barely looking at her. It was almost as though he was searching for something. Christine forced herself to stay calm.

"I _am_ the manager." She said, rather icily.

"Oh! Oh, I do beg your pardon." He said, looking incredibly embarrassed.

"What can I do for you…?"

"Nadir Khan, from _The_ _Notice_. I wanted to do an article about the Opera Populaire."

"And my deputy-managers could not suffice? I'm sure you understand that this close to an opening, we are all extremely busy." Christine pointed out. Khan nodded and said,

"I do understand that, but I'm sure that they couldn't know as much as you do about the Populaire."

"I'm not sure I could be very helpful, actually. Let's find somewhere to sit down." Christine led him into the rehearsal room, hoping that he would be distracted by the dancing and singing and the opportunity would come for her to slip away. But he was irritatingly focused on her.

"The building was constructed in the 1800's, I believe." He began, taking a small notebook from his pocket, "How long have you been here?"

"Two years, which is why I won't be of much use to you. If you prefer, I could find someone who has been here long." Christine offered. He shook his head.

"No, that won't be necessary. I've been to quite a few opera houses around Europe and a recurring theme is superstition and hauntings. A building with as much history as this one must be full of stories and strange occurrences."

Christine took matters into her own hands. She signalled at Mrs Giry. The ballet mistress approached and glanced at the reporter.

"Yes, Mrs de Chagny?"

"Mr Khan is from _The Notice_; perhaps you could answer his questions? You've been here longer than I have and I'm sure you can be far more informative. Excuse me, Mr Khan. I have a lot to do."

She stood and walked away, ignoring Khan's objections before he reluctantly settled down again. Christine was nearly at the door when she paused to glance back at Khan. He was speaking with Mrs Giry but seemed to sense her gaze. He met her eyes darkly and Christine saw, of all things, fear in those eyes.

* * *

From his position in Box 5, the masked creature glared at the interfering fool that was Nadir Khan. He had, of course, heard every word.

_I've been to quite a few opera houses around Europe._

Oh, yes. Something would have to be done. He only hoped that Khan would leave soon. After all, in spite of his interfering nature, he was a reasonable fellow. Once Khan had left to explore another opera house, His plan could finally begin. It wasn't as though He wanted much. A home, an occupation, somewhere to compose and create.

But first, He would need to inform the manageress of His requirements.

* * *

Christine left the Opera Populaire at six thirty that day. She had planned to leave earlier but with a thousand and one things still left to do, she couldn't have gotten away before then. The most frustrating had been the arrival of the Health and Safety Inspectors, who hadn't been due until the next day. They made their routine check of the opera house, as the opera couldn't open until they were satisfied. Thankfully, they had given their approval and had been purchasing tickets for _Romeo and Juliet_ as Christine had descended the steps.

She was turning the street corner when she noticed Nadir Khan watching the opera house from an alleyway, a suspicious look on his face. Christine looked at him and then carried on her way. Her mobile phone beeped shrilly and she flicked it open to read the text message from Raoul

**Hey, remember that Debienne is coming for dinner. XXX **

Christine's heart sank. Jonathon Debienne was one of Raoul's business associates, one that he was currently engaging in a very important deal. She had completely forgotten their dinner engagement that night, and was now on course to be late. It was a half hour walk home, leaving her less than half an hour in which to wash, dress and prepare to entertain. She quickly picked up her pace. Her thoughts were so preoccupied with the opera and dinner that she didn't notice as a car drew up alongside her. She only turned when the horn beeped, startling her. The bright face of Meg Giry hung out of the window from the driver's seat.

"Hey, Mrs de Chagny! Want a lift?"

Christine hesitated, glanced at her watch and then smiled weakly at the dancer.

"Miss Giry, you just became my saving grace." She walked around the car and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat. Meg smiled.

"How so?"

"I forgot a dinner meeting. I just hope Raoul can keep him entertained until I get a chance to clean up." Christine said, looking anxiously at her watch again. Meg smirked.

"You clearly haven't ever driven with me. My rule is that nowhere is more than ten minutes away in a car. And traffic lights are optional."

* * *

Debienne was a largely built man, with thick dark hair, a ruddy complexion and a rather loud voice. Christine heard him before she had even entered the sitting room, having slipped upstairs in order to clean up and change into a blue chiffon skirt and matching blouse. She opened the door and saw Raoul looked at her in relief. Apparently his guest was a little too overbearing for him. Christine smiled at them both.

"I must apologise for my lateness. There were a few hold-ups at the Populaire."

"Is everything alright?" Raoul asked.

"It will be. Mr Debienne, a pleasure to meet you at last." She turned to him and offered a hand, which he shook a little too enthusiastically.

"And the same to you, Mrs de Chagny. I should scold you, Raoul. You neglected to mention exactly how stunning your wife is."

Christine felt heat rise to her cheeks, as it always did when she was complimented so bluntly. The curse of pale skin, she knew. Raoul smiled and kissed her cheek.

"I guess I'm just scared someone will whisk her away from me." He teased. Christine smiled at him.

"You're both sweet and paranoid."

"Ah, such young love! Believe me, when you reach my age and have been as married as long as Annie and I have… well, you'll be begging someone to whisk her away." Debienne roared. Raoul and Christine both smiled, a little awkwardly. It was looking to be a very long night.

The cook had outdone himself with a heavenly menu of duck, a variety of sauces, vegetables and several bottles of fine wine. Christine ate, drank and spoke little, preferring to listen to the discussion between her husband and Debienne. At first they spoke merely of business, and then of Debienne's wife and family before the conversation turned to herself and Raoul.

"And when are you two planning on starting a proper family?" Debienne said over cheerfully. His usually red face was nearly purple through wine consumption. Christine smiled serenely.

"Raoul and I have discussed this many times. But now isn't the best time to bringing a child up. We're both focusing on our careers." She explained calmly. Debienne looked like he was about to make another comment but Raoul stepped in with a comment about the current state of the stock market, which sufficiently distracted their guest.

Debienne left fairly late that evening. Christine could already feel her eyes slipping shut and fought to stay awake as they said their goodbyes. Once the door had closed behind him, Raoul turned, pulled her close to him and kissed her so passionately that it woke her up immediately.

"God, I've been wanting to do that all evening. We're never having anyone to dinner again, ever." He muttered between kisses. Christine laughed and returned his embraces.

"That's what you get for bringing work home with you. And you haven't even asked me how my day has been."

"Christine, I don't _care_." He replied seriously, scooping her legs out from beneath her and heading to the stairs.

* * *

Joseph Buqet walked slowly through the corridors of the Opera Populaire, thanking God that he had a spare key. He had only just remembered that he had forgotten to lock away several pieces of expensive equipment. It was more than his job was worth to let those things get damaged or stolen and despite the late hour, he had returned to the opera house.

He scratched his short cut hair as he strolled through the dark hallways. Joe Buqet was one of the head technicians of the Opera Populaire, a slow-moving and quiet man. Whilst he was well-known as a peculiar man, he was respected within the opera house for the mere skill he possessed at his job.

Buqet's mind had been filled with thoughts of his warm, comfortable bed but they were driven out as a sound caught his attention. It was… singing. Buqet stopped and frowned. There shouldn't be anybody here at this time. He strained his ears to hear where the sound was emanating from and followed it to one of the practise rooms.

For several long moments he stood outside the room. The doors to the practise rooms where wooden with large frosted glass panels. As a result, Buqet could see nothing more than a blurred black outline. But he barely noticed, for the sweet music was drowning him, intoxicating him. He swayed slightly, listening to the wordless sounds. It did not even appear to have a recognisable melody; it was a mere medley of beautiful sounds. The essence of music, in its entire purity, not requiring words or notes, just… sound.

Buqet gradually rose from his trance and turned his face to the frosted glass as the noise continued. He was determined to find out who this person was. Perhaps they worked here, although he'd never heard someone create that sound here before. Or perhaps they had broken. There were any numbers of possibilities.

Buqet, still enthralled by the chillingly sweet music, stepped closer to the door, watching the black shape as it moved ever so slightly. His hand inched towards the handle of the door, his fingertips brushing the metal as the noise heightened to the point of ecstasy…

And then he shouted in horror as the black shape flung itself against the frosted glass and he saw the blurred face of the… _man_ pressed against the window.

Perhaps a braver man would have stayed. Perhaps not.

But Joe Buqet ran, leaving the _face_ to slowly peel away from the glass, the hollow eyes fixed on the man running as though every hound of hell were snapping at his heels.

And whilst Buqet was running with his heart hammering in his chest and his mind reeling in utter fear, Christine Daae was lying beside her sleeping husband, watching as the moonlight dropped through the gap in the curtains and moved closer to Raoul so that he would hold her in his slumber.

**A/N: A pathetically short chapter. I don't even know if I like it or not. I don't know… well, let me know what you think. I can't be bothered to explain why it took so long, there's an explanation in my profile if anyone wants one! Well, I'm gonna skedaddle. Please review, I really need some feedback on this.**

**Love**

**Katie **


	5. Chapter 5

**Behind Closed Doors**

"Joe, tell Cecile about the ghost!" Christine looked around as a couple of dancers rushed towards the technician and she paused to listen, under the pretence of reading a piece of paper.

"I've told you girls a thousand times." Joe chuckled lightly.

"And you'll tell us again? Tell us what it looked like!"

Joe put down a screwdriver and scratched his head, sighing heavily.

"Well… I only saw him through the frosted glass but his face was pressed up against the window and it was… it was like a skull. Peeling yellow skin, stretched tightly across the bones. And no nose at all, just a hole. And there were hints of red flesh, as though he were rotting. I thought it was just a dead body at first, but then the eyes moved. His eyes were so sunken in, the shadows around them look like holes, with just pupils in the middle." His voice had become quiet and tense.

"I think I saw horror movie like that once." Jammes giggled. Joe looked at her sternly.

"I guarantee you, little Jammes, this was no movie. That thing was as real as you or I."

The girls looked at each other and then Cecile tittered nervously.

"Maybe that's how Carlotta's headpiece ended up in the toilet this morning!"

"Yes, the ghost put it there!"

"The Opera Ghost is a troublemaker!" They dashed away, laughing. Joe shook his head and then looked up as Christine approached him.

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny."

"Mr Buqet, why on earth are you telling stories like that? Those dancers are excitable enough as it is and they're performing tomorrow night." Christine scolded gently. Only gently, because she rather liked Buqet, with his quiet sense of humour and reliable nature. Now his face was perfectly serious and she saw that it was taut and pale.

"I wish it _were_ a story, Mrs de Chagny. I was here late last night, I forgot to put something away and I heard this strange music coming from the practise rooms. I followed the noise and that's when I saw the face against the window."

Christine smiled slightly.

"I'm going to hope that you saw it through mere tiredness and not because you were drinking at all."

"This is no joke, Mrs de Chagny. There's something in this opera house. Something that shouldn't be. And it's here for a reason. There are a thousand and one places something like that could hide in this place. All of those unused rooms, the cellars, the attics…" Buqet said, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand but not meeting her eye.

"Why would it need to hide, if it were a ghost? Surely it could just walk through the walls anyway?" Christine said calmly, walking away with an amused expression. Joe watched her go, an anxious look on his face and a horrible burning sensation on the back of his neck, as though someone was watching him.

* * *

_Dear Madame Manager,_

_You would do well to advise Mr Buqet to hold his tongue. Ghosts do not react well to such provocation and invasion of privacy. On that note, I suggest you keep Mr Nadir Khan from entering my Opera House again._

_On a friendlier note, I wish to make a reservation. Box 5 will be kept empty on the opening night of _Romeo and Juliet _tomorrow. You will find that the box office has set it aside. May I suggest that you keep it that way? Otherwise life could become highly unpleasant for the both of us._

_Your most humble servant_

_The Opera Ghost_

Christine stared at the note in utter disbelief. Her office had not only been locked, but she possessed the only key! Yet someone had still managed to place this impossibly rude note on her desk and even have the nerve to not only tell her how to do her job, but actually threaten her!

Christine seized the scrap of paper and marched furiously through the opera house to the box office by the entrance. A middle aged woman was sat inside, reading the newspaper.

"What can I do for you, Mrs de Chagny?" She said, looking up.

"I want to know what is going on with Box 5."

"Box 5…?" The woman turned to her files and glanced through them, licking her thumb to help her shift the paper. "Ah, here it is. Oh, yes, that one. We were delivered a note saying that it was to be reserved for a Mr O.G. I thought that was odd, not leaving a proper name…"

"When was it booked?"

"Er… just two days ago." The woman said, peering over her half-moon spectacles at the file. Christine clenched her jaw.

"Sell the box. No, reserve it for myself and my husband."

"But Mrs de Chagny-"

"Just do it, please!" Christine snapped.

She turned and stormed back into the main part of the building. Moncharmin caught up with her.

"Ah, Mrs de Chagny, I was just looking for you, I- … is something wrong?"

"Has someone been in my office?" Christine demanded. Moncharmin blinked.

"No, everyone's been in rehearsals. Why?"

"Somebody broke into my office. This is the second time that this has happened and I don't find it particularly amusing!"

She paused and then looked down at the note. It didn't make sense. The main suspect would be Joe Buqet, but Christine couldn't believe for a moment that it was him. Why would he threaten himself? And this note about Nadir Khan…

"Mr Moncharmin, please can you find me the telephone number for _The Notice_?"

* * *

He watched as the manageress sat at her desk, frowning as she listened to whoever it was on the other end of the telephone.

"Are you absolutely sure? …Yes, thank you. Sorry to have bothered you." She put down the telephone and pushed a stray hair put of her face. He smirked. No doubt she had just discovered that Mr Khan was _not_ a reporter.

She picked up His note again He watched carefully as she reread it.

"Well, to hell with you, Mr Opera Ghost. I've got enough to do without playing childish games." She said dropping the note into the bin and turning on her computer screen. He scowled. His warning had been fair enough, hadn't it?

Now the consequences would have to be paid.

* * *

The next day was Friday and the opening night of _Romeo and Juliet_. Christine stood at the door of the Opera Populaire as the crowds passed, shaking hands with respectable citizens and admiring the vast variety of colour and luxury that passed her by. She herself was dressed in a sheath of light silver satin, her hair pinned up with silver clasps in a lovely cascade of golden curls. Raoul, in his smart tuxedo, was around somewhere, meeting and greeting old acquaintances whilst she spoke to the guests.

"We're terribly excited about the opera, Mrs de Chagny. The Opera Populaire always produces the most wonderful shows."

"Thank you, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"I can hardly wait until it starts!"

"Thank you, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

The same replies, over and over again, for Christine was distracted. There had been no further notes from the Opera Ghost, but she felt uneasy nonetheless. Perhaps sitting in Box 5 had been a mistake. An usher announced that it was time for everyone to take their seats and Christine stood to one side as everyone rushed to the theatre. Raoul appeared at her side and she smiled as he took her hand.

"Ready, my darling?" He said, kissing her cheek as they ascended the steps that would lead them to Box 5.

"Of course. Come on, let's go and enjoy ourselves. We can have at least one night without too much stress, don't you think?"

* * *

Joe moved around backstage, checking the final details of the lighting before nodding to the two technicians who would be handling it that evening. He tapped a thumb against his cheek for a moment as he heard the music strike up in the orchestra pit. He turned and fell back as he bumped into Carlotta, who sneered at him.

"Get out of my way, Ghostbuster." She said, pushing past to the stage.

For the past two days, everyone had been asking over and over again about the Ghost. And Joe had answered their questions, but now he was regretting it. Any little incident was now being attributed to the mysterious Opera Ghost. If a ballet rat's tights laddered, the Ghost had done it. If one of the chorus members lost their music, the Ghost had hidden it. The whole thing had become a complete joke. Joe suspected that a great many of the employees were laughing at him behind his back and those that weren't imagined him to be losing his mind.

Well… there was only one thing that would prove them wrong. And that would be if he could find out what that thing had been. Find evidence to show that he was telling the truth.

"Mac, I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He muttered to a fellow technician, who nodded.

"Watch out for the ghost, Joe!" He whispered. Joe glared at the back of his head and stalked off, thoroughly disgruntled. And Christine de Chagny's comment about him either being exhausted or drunk hadn't improved his mood at all.

The corridors of the opera house were eerily quiet after the hustle and bustle of the backstage. Joe moved purposefully towards the practise rooms.

* * *

Christine watched delightedly as the opera began. The rich music swelled as Carlotta began to sing in her charming tones. Raoul touched his wife's hand and she wrapped her fingers around his with a faint smile.

From the boxes surrounding them, eyes watched the stage in admiration. People were heard to murmur to their neighbours,

"Outstanding!"

"Superb."

"They've outdone themselves again."

The dancers flooded onto the stage and Christine leant forward to admire them. She watched Meg particularly and although she couldn't have told you what movement was what, she could tell that Meg was extremely talented. She held herself a touch more elegantly than most of the other dancers. Carlotta returned to the stage again, with the leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. They began a duet and Christine closed her eyes, half-dreaming as the music enveloped her.

At least, until someone touched her shoulder. She turned, as did Raoul, to see a pale-faced Mrs Giry behind her.

"Mrs Giry?"

"Mrs de Chagny, there's an emergency. You must come." The ballet mistress whispered. Christine frowned and touched Raoul's arm.

"I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to come?"

"No, just watch the opera."

She rose and followed Mrs Giry into the corridor, the noise of the opera only just audible through the doors. The older woman turned to her and Christine noticed for the first time that she was trembling.

"Mrs Giry, what's wrong? Do you need to sit down?"

"No... no…"

"What has happened? Has someone had an accident?" Christine asked, putting a hand under Mrs Giry's arm. She swallowed hard.

"It is Joseph Buqet. He's…"

"What? Is he hurt?"

"Mrs de Chagny, he's _dead_!"

Christine felt a cold numbness flood her body, quickly followed by terrifying heat. She stared at the ballet mistress.

"Where?"

"Come with me." They walked swiftly through the Opera Populaire's corridors, not meeting anyone until they reached the hallway that led to the practise rooms. A small gaggle of people were standing outside one of them but Christine pushed through.

"Let me through!" She ordered, and threw open the door to the practise room, only to fall back with a cry of horror.

The man that had been Joe Buqet was now swinging slowly from side to side, his neck encased in rope. Blood dripped, forming a small scarlet pool on the floor, too much of it to soak into the already saturated carpet. At first Christine could not understand where the blood had come from, but then her eyes fell upon his hands. The fingers were stained with the red liquid, where he had been clawing at his own throat to try and get free. Christine lifted her eyes to his face and saw that his eyes were bulging and his mouth was slack and his expression was one of absolute terror.

She only broke from her trance-like stance when the sound of applause reached her ears. The interval had arrived and in a few moments people would be pouring out of the theatre. She stepped back and slammed the door shut, locking it swiftly and turning to the few people gathered.

"All of you, go backstage. And if any of you breathes a word of this to anyone else, you'll be fired immediately! You…" She pointed to Mac, "Find me Moncharmin and Richard, and then find my husband. Mrs Giry, see if anyone else is missing."

"They won't be." The ballet mistress said quietly. Christine looked at her in confusion.

"How do you know?"

"It was him, Mrs de Chagny. The Opera Ghost."

"Don't be so ridiculous! Do as I said!"

* * *

Raoul sat in Box 5, waiting for Christine to return. Only, to his surprise, she did not. Instead she appeared on the stage, signalling for the curtains to close. They did so and everyone began to talk loudly until she called for attention.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention please." She paused. "Thank you. I regret to inform you that there has been a terrible accident backstage. I have had to summon the police." An outcry of horror and anger.

Christine waited for the noise to die down.

"I thank you for you patience in this matter. If you could all remain in your seats until I have further instructions, I would very much appreciate it. Of course, the rest of the opera will not be able to be shown, but I will ensure that you are all compensated. Staff will come round with refreshments in a moment. Thank you all."

She disappeared and Raoul got to his feet as the noise level rose again, determined to find out what had happened.

* * *

He watched as chaos ensued in His opera house, but was not particularly interested in the small, insignificant people who fussed that their grand evening had been ruined. Instead, He watched as the manageress greeted the police, leading them to the room where Buqet was hanging like a puppet on useless, gory strings.

Whilst the police questioned those who had found the body, He followed the manageress as she went a nearby flight of steps and lowered herself onto them, slowly removing the pins and clasps from her hair. It fell free in a tumble of curls and she buried her face in her hands. He could not tell whether or not she was weeping. But then she lifted her head and He saw that she was clasping a small crucifix between her fingers, obviously a necklace of sorts. Her mouth moved quickly but no sound came out.

He resisted the temptation to laugh, for no amount of prayer would be able to undo what had already been done. What God was as powerful as Him?

**A/N: Hmm, for once I don't actually have anything to say in my author's note. I hope I'm creating enough tension and mystery for this to work out into a good story. ****I know it took a darker turn towards the end, but since I'm hoping to go for a darker theme altogether, I'm hoping that it works out.**** Perhaps you should review and tell me.  
**

**I am so unsubtle, it should be a crime.**

**Love**

**Katie**


	6. Chapter 6

**Behind Closed Doors**

The Opera Populaire was open as usual the next day. A verdict had been given on Joseph Buqet's death – suicide.

At first Christine had found herself completely unable to believe this until the inspector revealed that Joseph Buqet was a little more… disturbed than one might have imagined. A large quantity of medical drugs was found in his blood and the inspector revealed that he had been seeing a psychologist for several years.

"Apparently he had a breakdown about ten years ago and spent some time in a sanatorium. He's been on medication since but his doctor informed us that he's been a little… off for the past few weeks. Not taking his medication, and such." The inspector sighed. "I think that would explain your 'Opera Ghost'. It's entirely possible it was signalling his mental breakdown. He stopped taking his medication and started to do this without even realising that he was doing them. And then he overdosed last night and he… well."

Christine couldn't believe that the man who had been Joseph Buqet could have been so troubled and that no one had known. She vaguely remembered that he lived alone and had not spoken to his sister for several years, his only living relative. How had she taken the news? Christine didn't know but she had other things to worry about now. She summoned everyone to the theatre the next day. Many of the ballet girls were crying. Even Carlotta was quieter than usual. Christine stood nervously before them all.

"I…" She began and then shook her head. "I know that… that this is hard. For everyone. But we have work to do. We still have to do our full opening night on _Romeo and Juliet_. I've cancelled tonight's show, but from Monday we're back to our regular scheduling. I know that losing Joe was a blow to us all, but… he worked hard here." She touched her cross and pushed back the tears in her eyes.

"He worked hard on this show. He loved his work. I won't let his work go to waste, not now. I suggest everyone takes today off and we'll start as usual on Monday morning. I've arranged for… for a counsellor to be here tomorrow, if anyone wants to talk. And Joe's family will let us now when the memorial service will be."

She stopped talking and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of sniffling as people got to their feet and left in small groups, whispering as though they were in a church. Christine waited until the majority of them had left before going to her office and sitting at the desk. She didn't turn on her computer or take out some work. She just sat there. There had been no need to tell them of Joe's problems. Let them remember him as the man he had been to them, not the half-being that he had become last night.

Richard knocked on the door and entered.

"Everyone's gone, Mrs de Chagny."

"That's fine. I'm going to… to do some work." Christine said quietly. Richard moistened his lips but didn't speak. Christine looked up at him. "Have you sent flowers to his family?"

"Yes."

"… Alright. You and Armand can go. I'll lock up when I'm finished."

"If you don't mind me saying, I think it'd be best if you didn't stay too long. Perhaps you and Mr de Chagny could… get away. Just for the day."

"Thank you, Firmin." Christine smiled sadly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Richard nodded and disappeared, shutting the door with a soft click. Christine bowed her head, fighting back tears but one single drop fell in spite of her efforts. It landed noiselessly on a piece of paper, darkening the whiteness of it. Another fell, and then another. Christine put her hands over her mouth as sobs rose, the sorrow and horror of the previous night finally catching up with her. For long moments she wept, loud and undignified gulping sobs coming from her.

* * *

He got to His feet as He heard the front doors closing. The last of the people had left, finally. This really would not do, how could He possibly work like this? He hadn't expected people to come in today and had been caught in Box 5 until they had gone.

He began to walk the corridors, delighting in their emptiness. Truly, a building did not achieve its full potential until it was deserted apart from one who remained to admire it. His feet made no sound on the marble floor.

_Opera Ghost_

He smirked. Yes, he was an Opera Ghost. He would haunt this place until the eternal sleep claimed Him for its own. Those foolish policemen thought that Buqet had been the Opera Ghost. And how simple it had been to convince them that he had taken his own life! A little extra medication injected before he had suffocated had done the job nicely. Now He was safe until He chose to reveal Himself.

A door closed somewhere and He darted into a side corridor automatically as someone passed by. The manageress, of all people. He frowned as she stopped and sniffed, wiping her eyes. She wasn't carrying her bag or coat. Did she not intend to leave at all?

This was a shrill beeping and she took a mobile telephone from her pocket.

"Yes? Raoul… yes, I'm fine… they've all gone. No, I'm going to… to stay and finish some work. No, Raoul, don't, I just… yes. I'll call Philippe when I get home, he'll need to know about Joe. Yes, I'll see you later… bye." She ended the call and thrust the phone back into her pocket. She pushed her hair out of her face and He saw that her features were red from crying. She continued on her way, but she did not go to leave. Instead she walked towards the theatre. Curious, He followed, walking up to Box 5 so that He could watch her.

She was walking around the stage, around the props that were still set out from the previous night. Her hands touched the backdrop tentatively, as though afraid it were burn her. He watched her, strangely curious at her behaviour. She moved to the edge of the stage, tidying away spare sheets of music, folding a cloth that had been flung over a chair. Her movements were slow and dreamy, as though she were barely conscious. He leant forward to watch her, a slight frown on his face. This was a very different woman from the one he had been observing over the past fortnight. The ice-cool façade was gone, replaced by a haunted sorrow. Strange, how quickly and thoroughly a death could affect a human being.

The manageress turned and made her way from the room. He stood and followed her, making slightly less noise than a shadow as they walked through the corridors. To His surprise, they were headed towards the practise rooms. Now that those ignorant policemen had left, the mess had been cleaned up and the room was ready for use again. He paused as she went to the door of _that_ room and slipped away to crawl into the air vent, wanting to watch.

The blonde woman moved into the room and went to sit at the piano. She sat for long moments, looking down at the keys. He was actually beginning to grow bored when she put her hands to the keys and began to play a requiem. Her movements were perfect, the sound was beautiful and there was even a tone of her own sadness to the music. He listened carefully, waiting for her to slip up but she didn't, even without sheet music.

Perhaps the manageress was not as musically challenged as He had first imagined.

The music came to a halt and she gently closed the piano lid.

"It'll be the only requiem that you'll get, Joe. I'm sorry." She said quietly, going to the door again. This time He did not follow her. Instead He stayed in His uncomfortable hiding place and contemplated what He had just been witness to.

* * *

The counselling sessions took place the next day, Sunday. Christine was in the Opera House, although she had no intention of speaking with a counsellor. She sat with those who were waiting in the theatre as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. There were lots of people present. She hadn't realised how popular Joe had been. She moved around, not really speaking with anyone but pausing occasionally to listen as they reminisced about their lost colleague. There had been reporters hanging around all weekend and whilst she had released a formal statement, there had obviously been some gossip mongering amongst the cast and crew, as rumours of an 'Opera Ghost' had leaked into the articles.

"Hi Mrs de Chagny."

She stopped and saw Meg curled in a chair nearby, Jammes sitting beside her with a nervous expression. Christine sat down on Meg's other side. Meg smiled weakly.

"Are you seeing the counsellor?"

"No… I have to be here, with so many people in the building." She paused. "I don't think talking to a counsellor would help me."

"Mum told me to come…" Meg whispered. "I just… I can't believe that he did that to himself."

"I didn't think so either. But… I suppose he was a deeper person than we thought he was." Christine said quietly. Jammes let out a quiet sob and Christine took a clean tissue from her pocket and passed it to her. Jammes wiped her eyes, still sobbing quietly. Meg bit her lip.

"Are we back to normal rehearsals tomorrow?"

"Yes. I think the best thing we can do now is just get back into some state of normality. I'm putting a dedication to Joe on the back of the programmes." Christine replied. Her mobile phone began to ring and she flicked it open. "Yes?"

"Christine, its Philippe. Raoul just told me about the technician who died. What happened?"

"Phil, I can't talk about it here. Can I call you this afternoon?"

"Well, yes, I suppose, but-"

"Thanks Phil." She snapped the phone shut and put it back in her pocket, before glancing at the dancers. "Do you need a drink or anything?"

They both shook their heads and Jammes' name was called. She disappeared out to see the counsellor and Christine smiled weakly at Meg before slipping to the back of the theatre. It was strange, she though. She usually didn't tend to associate with the performers and workers of the opera house, usually sending Firmin or Moncharmin on her behalf. But since Joe's death she had found that they had all tightened together, as though providing a shield against the sorrow. She was talking to the chorus members, to the dancers, making sure that they were all alright.

Mrs Giry was at the back of the theatre, watching the others. Christine joined her.

"Mrs Giry…"

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny."

"Have you spoken to the counsellor?" Christine asked. Giry shook her head.

"Oh, no. I don't care for such things. I wanted to apologise to you for my outburst on Friday night. I said some rather foolish things."

"You mean, about the ghost?" Christine asked. "It was Joe, all the time."

"What?" Giry looked at her in surprise. Christine nodded.

"Yes, the police told me that he's been taking medication and such for mental problems. I suspect he was having troubles when he saw the 'ghost' and… well…"

Her phone began to ring again and she moved away to answer it, not seeing Giry's confused expression or that her hands has tightened so much that her knuckles were pale.

* * *

The next performance was scheduled for Monday evening. This was, in fact, a rescheduling of Friday's, with the same ticket-holders. They had, after all, paid to see the show. Raoul had been unable to attend that evening, stuck at a business dinner, but Christine had assured him that she would survive.

She waited out of sight, allowing people to bustle to their seats. After nodding to a few stragglers, Firmin joined her and said,

"Everything's prepared. The security is scattered, as you asked." Christine had hired a couple of extra security guards for the evening. This was more of a reassurance to audience and employees than anyone expecting anything to happen. Christine wasn't absolutely prepared to admit that it was a reassurance for herself as well.

She had, once again, booked Box 5. Once she had thanked Firmin and Moncharmin for their help, she made her way up to her seat. She had chosen not to don her evening gown this time, instead wearing a charcoal grey suit and white blouse. As Christine took her seat, she looked around the theatre at the waiting guests, a few of whom were still making their way to their seats. The lights began to dim, but not before Christine's eye was caught by a white object on the shelf by her legs that made her heart skip a beat.

A black trimmed envelope, addressed to herself.

* * *

_**Technician Commits Suicide During Opera Premiere**_

Nadir Khan read the title with a sense of foreboding. He lifted the paper from the wire stand and handed over a few coins for it, as he read the front page, that bore the few details that were actually known. There was a little information about this Buqet fellow, some family news, reactions from the manageress – all uninteresting comments.

There were only two details that interested Khan. The fact that Buqet had been found hanging in a music room, and the insubstantial rumours from gossiping chorus members and dancers that related to an 'Opera Ghost'.

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. It's been a crazy time for me. I finish school next Friday – OK, I have exams, but still. Plus my dog has had a couple of accidents. Lol, we've only had him six weeks and he's already a disaster area, bless him! So – anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm still trying to set it up, and I'm really unsure about this story. It's very much a new territory for me so reviews are very helpful!**

**Love**

**Katie**


	7. Chapter 7

**Behind Closed Doors**

_Dear Madame Manager,_

_I must offer my condolences on the regrettable death of Mr Joseph Buqet. I'm sure he is a great loss to your establishment._

_I'm afraid before we can turn to happier affairs, I must issue you with a warning – I would very much prefer it if you did not mention our correspondence to anyone else, including your young husband. I find that outside interference can cause an unhappy business relationship and I'm sure that you can sympathise._

_I have decided that my position of Opera Ghost is one of great importance to your company. Mindless fools, as you know, will flock to a 'haunted' opera house and will provide you with a great deal of business. I will provide them with suitable entertainment, on the following conditions:_

_1. Box 5 will be kept empty during ALL performances. This includes the exclusion of yourself and your husband._

_2. I shall be requiring a salary. I shall contact you at a later date with information._

_3. I will be making some 'suggestions' that should be carried out, in relation to the operas performed here. For the moment things shall remain as they are until I have time to attend to these matters._

_I thank you for this attention in this matter. Also, I must inform you that if you should try to investigate into my business, you shall regret it. I suggest you pass this warning on to other curious employees._

_Your Humble Servant_

_O.G._

_PS: I found your requiem most touching. May I suggest that you keep up your music? As manager, you should at least show some basic interest in the arts._

It was the longest letter yet, but Christine had read it so many times that she could have recalled it by heart.

What _was_ this? Some ridiculously elaborate prank (and hardly an amusing one at that)? Some madness by one of the employees? The theory that the Opera Ghost had been Joe's imagination was now out of the window. When Christine had first seen the letter, she tried to think how he could have put it there, but there was no earthly way that it could have been possible.

And, despite her rational nature, she was confused. Obviously this couldn't be real. There was no ghost in the Opera Populaire. Yet, Christine couldn't help feeling as though such a letter could not possibly have been composed by some earthly entity. This feeling was completely irrational and yet… there it was.

Christine took out a notepad and began to write a reply, half off her mind telling her that it was ridiculous to do such a thing and the other half wondering if this was such a good idea, as the Ghost had left no instructions to reply.

_Dear Opera Ghost,_

_I hope you won't mind my correspondence. If, as you imagine, we are to become business acquaintances, perhaps it would be better if we were more readily available to talk to one another. In any case, I wanted to reply to your latest letter._

_To start, I do not wish to discuss the death of Joseph Buqet. Especially when half of the Opera House believes that it was _your _doing._

_I believe that your threat is quite unwarranted. Believe me when I tell you that I couldn't tell anyone about this – I prefer that people believe that I am still sane. Clearly you do not have that preference._

_Your business proposition is an intriguing one. However, I'm sure you know that the Opera Populaire is quite capable of making its own business. It will not create a good reputation if we are suddenly overrun by ghost hunters and curious public._

_In answer to your demands:_

_1. Box 5, as I'm sure you know, is one of the most expensive and sought after boxes in the opera house. Your demand of it for every performance would not be viable from a fiscal point of view, which I'm sure a businessman such as yourself understands._

_2. A salary? Forgive my amusement, but for such a thing you would have to be registered as living and on the official payroll of the opera house. This is not likely to happen. _

_3. I leave it up to Mr Reyer and Mrs Giry to decide on the performance details. Any queries should be taken up with them._

_As yet, Sir, you have neglected to mention exactly what your business is. How could I therefore investigate it? And I should have thought that such an aloof gentleman as yourself would not care of the investigations of a few curious stagehands and giggling ballet rats._

_Yours Faithfully_

_Christine de Chagny_

_PS: You shall never know the true meaning that music holds in my life._

The last line was one that held a great deal of interest for Him. Indeed, the whole letter was extremely interesting – as well as amusing. This manageress, this Christine de Chagny, imagined that she held some sort of power over Him.

Yet, there were a few comments within her letter that made Him rather… curious. The veiled jibes at Him, the sarcastic teasing. Clearly this woman was not talking to a ghost. In fact, she hadn't even intended for anyone to see the letter. It had lain abandoned on her desk as she went to attend to more important work. He had waited until she was further occupied before taking it and reading with an inquisitive manner.

He paced His quarters, reading and rereading the letter. The wording was strange, gently taunting and there was a good deal of mockery in it. However, there was also the essence of something else behind the words. Something that He suspected was a longing for… what? Company? She had plenty of that; she was constantly surrounded by people. If it wasn't those idiotic deputy managers, it was performers or crew. And when she wasn't with them, she was with her husband. But there was a want in her letter. Indeed, she seemed to be displaying far more emotion in her script than He had yet witnessed from her face.

He scratched His exposed chin with one long finger before sitting to compose a reply. One that He suspected would take a great deal of time to write.

* * *

"A full week and no more disasters." Firmin said confidently Christine on Friday morning. She glanced at him sideways.

"Don't tempt fate, Mr Firmin; that is the last thing that we need."

"Ah, but of course. Anyway, I have a few things to finish with Moncharmin. Rehearsals are full fling and going beautifully!"

"Then I think I shall go and see for myself." Christine said, rising from her office seat. She dropped a few used pieces of paper into the bin and was just leaving behind Firmin when Raoul appeared before her. She blinked in surprise and then smiled.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?"

"Can't a man just show up to see his lovely wife?" He smiled, kissing her. She raised an eyebrow and he sighed. "I know. I've just got off the phone with Philippe. He wants me to go over to America to help him tie up a business deal before we fly back on Saturday."

Christine's heart sank a little but she ignored it, running her arms around his neck as Firmin excused himself.

"If you have to go, then go."

"You're not upset?"

"It'll give me a chance to go and see all of my other boyfriends." She said lightly. He nodded.

"You've been neglecting them lately." He said in a jokingly-casual voice. Christine smiled and said,

"Raoul, you've been away before. It's fine. When's your flight?"

"I can catch one tonight."

"Then go and organise it." She said, letting go of him. He kissed her and held her tightly for a moment before leaving.

Christine walked slowly up to Box 5 so that she could watch the rehearsal without being disturbed with the petty matters that Firmin and Moncharmin would almost inevitably come to her for help. She sat in the single chair of the box, curling her legs beneath her as she thought about Raoul. He had gone away on business trips before. And every time, she missed him, even with daily telephone calls and emails. He was her near-constant companion, the only person who she trusted completely. When he went away… half of her felt gone.

She sighed softly and watched as Carlotta sang Juliet's aria in a crystalline voice. The French lyrics were so sweet and Carlotta sang them so tenderly that Christine felt tears rise in her eyes. She pushed them back and closed her eyes as Reyer halted Carlotta to point out a particular note, drifting away to a place where music played and voices sang and there was never any need to leave.

* * *

The next day, Christine arrived early at the Opera Populaire. Raoul had departed the previous evening, and Christine had decided that she would be more use at the opera house than sulking around at home. After picking up a cappuccino and Danish pastry, she entered the lobby, only to hear music floating from somewhere. The dance rooms. She followed the sound, recognising it as the light-hearted ballet from _Il Muto_, an opera they had produced the previous year. Christine opened the door to see Meg Giry, in a leotard and tights, dancing as though the world would end if she didn't.

Christine stood in the doorway, watching delightedly at the unearthly beauty of the movements. The human body was capable of such grace and loveliness that you rarely saw. But Meg was giving of waves of these qualities as she spun and stepped as lightly as though she were barely touching the ground at all. The music faded away and Meg stopped to smile at Christine.

"You're here early." Christine commented, sipping her coffee. Meg nodded and drank thirstily from her water bottle.

"It's easier to practise when it's quiet. Mum let me in, I hope it's OK."

"Of course it is. You dance amazingly."

"Thanks! I have to practise hard though." Meg said, stretching her limbs. Christine sat and broke a piece from her pastry.

"Perhaps you'll be able to take over from Sorelli as prima ballerina eventually."

"That's my aim! I've got a long way to go before then, though. Mum's been training me since I could walk. Without her, I'd never have been good enough." The ballerina said truthfully. "Some of the other girls are just fantastic and they hardly ever practise. I'm training every spare moment, and not just ballet. I'm running, jumping, doing the hokey-kokey. I do gymnastics three times a week as well as everything else."

"It shows. I mean, I'm no expert on ballet, or any dance for that matter. But I can tell that you're brilliant."

Meg laughed lightly and sat down on the floor, stretching her legs in front of her.

"So, I know why _I'm _here at some insane hour. What about you?" She said, leaning forward to touch her toes. Christine shrugged slightly.

"No particular reason. Raoul's away in America with his brother until next week, and I've got a few things to do here. So…" She shrugged again. Meg grinned.

"You miss him?"

"Hmm…"

"I would too." She winked and Christine smiled, a little surprised at the girl's forwardness. Meg continued. "How do you think _Romeo and Juliet_ is going? I mean, you were watching the rehearsal yesterday, weren't you?"

"They're going well." Christine said, "I hope it'll be as successful as our last production."

"Oh, it will be. Since you arrived, we've been doing brilliantly. We were about to close down before you came along." Meg pointed out. Christine smiled.

"I couldn't let that happen. As soon as I found out, I begged Raoul to consider patronage. Believe me, his brother wasn't happy about it. But it's been a financial and social miracle for him, so he doesn't mind so much anymore."

Meg glanced at her.

"That's not why you did it though. You love the music, don't you? I see you sometimes, just watching the rehearsals and I know you've got better things to do. But I see you standing there and I can just tell that it means more to you than the money."

Christine looked at her in surprise. Meg grinned.

"I'm not falling for that mysterious manager act, thanks."

"Well, you saw right through me." Christine said in a half-teasing voice, before becoming serious and fingering the rim of her coffee cup. "I took a degree in music at university. I'd always loved it. My father used to… he played the violin. He taught me everything about music. I grew up with music in my life and I could never let go of it."

"Is he…?" Meg hesitated. Christine nodded, feeling a familiar pang of sadness in her chest. Some wounds never healed.

"When I was sixteen. I lived with a family friend, Mrs Valérius, until I went to university and met Raoul again."

"Again? You knew him before?"

"Yes, when we were children. Papa… my father and I used to live down by the coast, near the de Chagny home there. We played together every summer, when Raoul came to visit. Then my father and I moved away." Christine explained, not entirely sure why she was telling Meg this. Meg seemed to sense her hesitation and said,

"My dad's dead as well."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. He left when I was just a kid. He used to… well, he hit my mum. Eventually she told him to get out and he did. He came back when I was nineteen, wanting to get to know me. I told him to get lost and he died a few months later." Meg said in a matter-of-fact tone, but her hands unconsciously clenching. Christine frowned and Meg shook her head. "We're better off without him. Mum's the only person I need. She kept him away from me, made me a strong person, gave me a proper life. Why would I need a father when I've got her?"

They were both silent, contemplating their differences when the door opened and Mrs Giry appeared in the doorway.

"Megan, that doesn't looking like dancing to me. Or perhaps you've engaged with some new form of training?" She said dryly. Meg leapt to her feet and turned on the CD player. Giry looked at Christine.

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny. I hope my daughter hasn't been irritating you too much."

"No, we were just… chatting." Christine said. She looked at Giry a little more closely and felt a new respect rise within her before excusing herself to go to her office, where a pile of letters were waiting for her.

She spent nearly two hours sorting through the mail and answering it, before reaching the one that she had placed to one side. Addressed, as it always was, to _The Manager_ the black-trimmed envelope was not particularly important.

_Dear Madame Manager,_

_Excuse my belated rely. A ghost has many duties that take up his attention._

_In return to your previous letter, I agree that we have many things to discuss. Therefore, I shall continue this correspondence. It may prove beneficial to both of us, especially since you insist that you are not a threat to me. _

_Allow me to assure you that I had nothing to do with Mr Buqet's death. I have far better things to do with my precious time than adhere to 'the investigations of a few curious stagehands and giggling ballet rats' as you so charmingly worded it._

_In reference to Box 5 – I _will _be using it for the performances. If you should choose to sit in it, or sell it, then the consequences will be on your conscience. I also happen to know that the de Chagny family has more than enough disposable income to pay a suitable salary for what will soon become an extremely beneficial employee. I shall certainly be contacting Reyer and Giry. There are certain things that cannot possibly be left as they if you wish this production to be in any way successful. _

_My business, Mrs de Chagny, is none of yours. Let us keep it that way. And if, as you so adamantly insist, music is of such importance to you, perhaps you should indulge in it occasionally. An ignorant manager is as of much use an untrained soprano. And speaking of La Carlotta, kindly inform her that screaming a top note is insufferable. Either ensure she receives suitable training or prepare another singer. And putting a little passion into her song would greatly enhance her music as well._

_Yours faithfully_

_O.G._

_PS: I shall retrieve any further letters from Box 5. I trust you do not mind my putting my replies in your office. I sent this one in with the usual post to avoid any indignation on your part. _

**A/N: Long time, no update. Ho hum. I've now officially finished school. I only have to take my exams, hopefully pass them, and then, with a bit of luck, I'll be off to university in September! Thank you all for your kind comments about my troublesome dog. He's fine now, for the most part. He's had an operation on his mouth, after deciding that it'd be just hilarious to chase a squirrel, bit into a barbed wire fence and then not let go, splitting a tooth. Sigh… he's lucky he's so adorable, he really is. Here's a piccy.  
**

**http / img. photobucket. com/ albums/ v178/ Kat097/ Toppa4. jpg**

**Anyway – chapter. Yeah. Hope you liked it. I really loved writing those letters; it's just so much fun to get inside Erik's mind! Please read, review, constructively criticise, etc. I have stinking cold right now and I kinda want to go to bed. So nighty night!**

**Love**

**Katie**


	8. Chapter 8

**Behind Closed Doors**

He watched as the manageress spoke quietly with Reyer. He knew perfectly well what they were discussing. Reyer's sudden changes to the opera.

"It's quite odd, actually. I was going through my list of things to alter and there was a sheet attached to the back with some quite ingenious ideas, Mrs de Chagny!" The man said excitedly. "It's going to improve the opera greatly!"

"Are you sure it's wise to be changing it now?"

"It's as good a time as any. I just wish I knew who had left them. I'd very much like to offer my congratulations!"

"Maybe it was the Phantom of the Opera!" Cecile said, where a group of ballerinas were listening in. De Chagny rolled her eyes.

"The Phantom of the Opera? I thought it was the Opera Ghost?"

"It was but the newspapers came up with this name and it's _so_ much cooler." Cecile said.

De Chagny frowned.

"What newspaper?" It was passed to her. He smirked. He had already read the amusing article. The manageress was not quite so entertained.

"Well, this is _just_ what we need." She said. Cecil shrugged.

"I though that there was no such thing as bad publicity?"

"Maybe so, but I'd quite like people to be interested because of the operas, and not because of a fairytale."

"But it's true!" Gabrielle declared. "The Phantom is real!"

"If he is, I do wish he'd stop interfering and get back to haunting." The manageress said dryly, passing the newspaper back. "Mr Reyer, do as you see fit. I trust your judgement."

He followed her back to her office, where he'd left a note for her. She smiled slightly as she saw the envelope. She clearly found the situation quite amusing.

"Well, Mr Phantom, what have you got to say for yourself this time?" She murmured, sitting to read the letter.

_Dear Madame Manager,_

_In accordance with your suggestion, I have made my contact with Mr Reyer. Expect changes to be made._

_I have also made my first move in establishing my presence as Opera Ghost to the world. There will be an article published, or perhaps you will have seen it by this time. Use the media attention in any way you see fit. Although, it would be advisable not to let La Carlotta anywhere near a member of the media. _

_With Mr de Chagny being absent, I expect you to concentrate on your music for a period. Whilst your piano skills are mediocre, I suggest that you invest in other instruments. A one trick pony is never of great amusement for long._

_Yours Faithfully_

_O.G._

_Or perhaps I should write, PotO?_

To His surprise, she actually laughed out loud at the last line. She reached for another sheet of paper, still smiling. This in itself was strange. He wasn't sure if it was just His imagination, but it seemed to him that since they had begun their regular written conversation, Christine de Chagny had been smiling a lot more than usual.

She began to write her letter, but was interrupted by Moncharmin.

"Mrs de Chagny, I was wondering if I might speak with you about this whole 'Phantom' business." He said, in a rather pompous tone. She put her pen down.

"What is it?"

"Well, Richard and I have been discussing the affair and we can see a certain amount of… worth in it." Moncharmin said, sitting in the chair opposite her desk and arching his fingers together. "Why not use it to our advantage?"

"…Would you care to elaborate?" She suggested. Moncharmin leant forward, glowing with self-pride.

"With so much media attention directed at the opera house, we can twist it around! Refuse to comment on the ghost, which will encourage interest, which will lead to ticket sales! People will come to the operas in hopes of seeing the ghost!" She seemed amused. Probably by the fact that she had already thought of this plan and Moncharmin was revelling in the idea that it was original.

"Don't you think it would be better if they were coming to see… the operas?" She asked.

"Oh, well, yes. But we could still use the attention. Richard and I have discussed it, and we'd be perfectly happy to handle the media side of things." Moncharmin explained. "You wouldn't be bothered at all! We can brew up the interest in the opera house and make money at the same time! Perhaps allow a few reporters inside…"

"No." She said flatly.

Moncharmin looked affronted. He blinked confusedly for a short moment, but de Chagny leapt in first.

"I have no problems with you and Richard handling the media. I have perfect trust in you. But I will not allow reporters into the opera house on some sort of ghost hunt. If they want to come in to report on the operas, then fine. But I won't have them treating this opera house as if it were an amusement park." She said firmly. Moncharmin seemed torn between exasperation at her flat refusal and glowing pleasure at her admission of faith in him.

"Well… if you think it's for the best…"

"I do."

"I'll go and tell Richard immediately." Moncharmin said, beaming at her. She smiled him out and then lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"I hope you appreciate what I just did for you." She said out loud. He smirked.

"Oh, I do."

* * *

Christine cried out loud as a voice murmured softly in her ear, "_Oh, I do_." She glanced around wildly, searching for the source of the voice and finding none.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding and a cold tingling sensation running up her spine. She licked her dry lips and parted them.

"… Who's there?"

No reply.

She sat stock still at her desk, fists clenched so hard that her after several moments of silence, she realised that she could feel warmth in her hands and looked down. Several small, curved slits had appeared in the smooth flesh of her hands and her nails were tinted crimson. She frowned and reached for a tissue, wiping the blood quickly away as she made her way from her office to the women's toilets, throwing her reply into the waste basket as she passed.

She turned the silver knob and held her bleeding hand under the rush of cold water. The shock of it made her gasp quietly, as a few slight drops of scarlet liquid whirled within the clear liquid before descending to the drain. She turned the tap off and took some more tissue, drying her hands and examining the cuts. It was definitely time to try cutting her fingernails. Christine looked up as the door swung open and Meg entered with Cecile. They stopped short at the sight of her.

"Hi Mrs de Chagny!" Cecile said brightly. Meg frowned.

"What's wrong?" She was eying the blood-dotted tissue. Christine quickly dropped it into the bin.

"Just an accident." She said calmly. Meg didn't look convinced. "It's fine now. Shouldn't you be in rehearsals now?"

"Mr Reyer told us to go to lunch. Carlotta's having a tantrum and he wanted us all out of the way." Cecile said. Christine sighed.

"Wonderful. Just what we need."

"Cecile and I were going to go to the café, if you want to come." Meg suggested. Christine was about to refuse, just because she always did, but something made her pause.

Did she really want to go back and sit in that office? If she did, it would be a matter of time before Carlotta stropped along, demanding her immediate attention. An unattractive prospect.

"… I'll just go and get my purse."

* * *

The experience was more than enough to make Christine forget about the fright from earlier no that day. With plates of sandwiches, crisps and a drink each, the three women sat around a comfortable table in the corner, discussing the opera. Meg had both Cecile and Christine in fits of laughter with her impression of Carlotta.

"And, no! No, I cannot _possibly_ drink THAT! It is NOT purest water from Switzerland, filtered for forty years, I shall not TOUCH it! Get that foul thing _away_ from me!" She cried waving her hands in the air and sneering down at the bottled water in a manner that was alarmingly similar to the singers. Cecile's face was scarlet with giggling and Christine was reclined in her chair, a hand held guiltily over her mouth as the laughter escaped her.

"How do you _do_ that? I could swear you were Carlotta herself!" Cecile gasped. Meg shrugged, grinning.

"She's just so ridiculous. I don't know how you put up with her, Mrs de Chagny. Doesn't she drive you insane?"

"Why do you think I hired Moncharmin and Richard?" Christine pointed out. "I wouldn't get any work done if I was dealing with her myself."

"You should hear her with them!" Meg snorted. "Why, no! I will not speak with you! You are ridiculous little men! I want to see the _manager_!"

They laughed again, as Christine's mobile phone began to ring. She slipped it open and answered, still laughing.

"Hello?"

"Well, you sound cheerful!" Raoul said jovially. Christine smile widened.

"Raoul! Yes, I'm just... having lunch with friends and…" She collapsed into laughter again and Raoul chuckled.

"I'm not sure I like you having this much fun without me, you know."

"Unless you can do a stunningly good impression of Carlotta, I doubt it." Christine replied. Meg grinned proudly.

"Well, I can't promise that. But I _can_ assure you that Phil and I will be back on Saturday. We're getting up ridiculously early, so I can get back at a decent hour and spend some time with you."

"Raoul, we live together. You don't need to put yourself out like that."

"Don't object. It's all very romantic and I won't have you ruining that for me." He said firmly. "Oh, Phil's back. We've got a meeting. I love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you on Saturday."

They said goodbye and Christine put the phone back into her bag. Cecile beamed.

"Mr de Chagny has a _brother_? Perfect!"

"No chance, new girl. Everyone knows that he and Sorelli are… well…" Meg suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Christine smiled.

"Don't worry; it's not as if I don't know about it. Who doesn't?"

"He's _taken_? Damn! Cos if he's as hot as your husband _and_ as rich… well, that's a catch!" Cecile said. Christine laughed lightly.

"Philippe's lovely. But yes, he and Sorelli have been… on good terms for several years."

"Are they not official?" Cecile asked. Christine shook her head.

"No. The thing is that the de Chagny's are, as a family, very proud of their noble blood. Sorelli isn't of that class."

"That's a bit snobbish. No offence." Meg said. Christine shrugged.

"I know. But Phil won't risk making it official until he can be sure that it won't have serious repercussions on the family name. They've got a grandmother who is still set in the old de Chagny ways. She objected strongly to Raoul marrying me, until she discovered that I had a very distant cousin who was married to some duke of somewhere-or-other in Sweden." She said dryly. Meg gasped.

"Your Majesty!"

"Oh, stop it. I've never even met this person, but connections are everything. When Mrs de Chagny is… well, Philippe and Raoul both look up to her greatly. Once she's gone, perhaps Phil will risk it. But for now he's got to think of his family." Christine said quietly.

They were silent for a moment before Cecile sighed.

"I've got a third cousin who works for the BBC. Is that high enough?" They all laughed a little at that, before Meg changed the subject to a rather uncomfortable one.

"So, anymore news on our Phantom?"

"I haven't heard anything. Carrie thought that he'd stolen her socks the other day, but she'd left them in her backpack." Cecile said. Christine didn't reply, fingering the slits in her flesh as an icy chill shot down her spine. Meg looked at her.

"Do you think there really is a ghost?"

"Of course not. It's probably one of the stagehands playing a silly trick. The only reason we're not quashing the rumours is because it's getting publicity. Perhaps not the right kind, but gossip's worth its weight in gold around here." Christine said dryly. She looked at her watch and sighed. "We should get back."

They collected their things and crossed the street, talking about the afternoon rehearsals. Christine was actually amazed at how _relaxed_ she felt. She was the same age as the two people beside her, but had always felt so much older. Now she was the same as them. They were just a group of young women, enjoying lunch and walking back to work together. How easy it was to be young!

However, Christine felt her newfound youth draining swiftly away as they entered the Opera Populaire as she saw Richard hurrying towards her, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Mrs de Chagny! Oh, thank goodness you're back!"

"What is it?"

"Carlotta, Mrs de Chagny. She's refusing to perform! She's threatening to leave altogether!"

"Why?" Christine exclaimed. Richard stammered the next line.

"The Ghost! He sent a note and she's _furious_! We've all been trying to find you!"

Christine's heart sank like a rock. She pushed Richard out of the way and half-ran to the theatre, Cecile and Meg following with great interest. Carlotta spin around, waving the note as Christine went to her.

"I won't do it! I will not put up with this abuse!" She screamed. Christine snatched the note and read it swiftly. There was more than enough within it to see why Carlotta was so angry. Subtle jabs, tips on how to sing, recommendations of replacements. All written in that familiar scrawling hand. Carlotta was still screeching until Christine snapped at her.

"Will you _stop_ that noise!"

Everyone stared at their usually soft-spoken manager as she glared around at them all.

"You are all too old to be paying attention to ghost stories! I'm sick to death of this nonsense. There is no phantom of the opera, no opera ghost! I want everyone working and if I hear one more word of this rubbish, somebody is going to pay for it!" She said furiously, marching from the room with her face ablaze. Nobody said a word.

They were all in too much shock.

* * *

He watched in anger as the manageress arrogantly denied His complete existence. Who the hell did she think she was? After all of His hard work! After all that He had done for her, tipping the press of about His presence, starting the various rumours to draw in the attention that the business needed! And now she had denied Him, betrayed Him!

Oh no. This would not do at all. He was quite certain of that. He had given her enough chances. He had been amiable, compliant even. Now He was going to take control properly. Christine de Chagny would be receiving another note very soon.

And it would not be one that she would appreciate.

**A/N: Another long wait! Lol, I honestly don't know why you people put up with me.**

**Not much to say on this one. It's late, I'm tired. I just want to make sure that you all send love and adoration to my brand new, super-shiny, ever-so obliging, wonderful beta – Theangelcried. She is brilliant. Love her.**

**Love**

**Katie**


	9. Chapter 9

**Behind Closed Doors**

"Mrs de Chagny, do you want to approve the menu for tomorrow night?" Alan, the manservant, asked, holding out a piece of paper. Christine looked up from her desk, scattered with papers and took the sheet. She scanned it briefly.

"That's fine, Alan."

"And a wine?"

"Oh, I don't know… let the chef choose something that will go with the meal." She said tiredly. Alan nodded, eying her rather worriedly as he left. The past three days had been extremely stressful of the lady of the house. Rumours from the opera house were flying everywhere and she seemed to be taking every blow personally.

Christine put her pen down and put her head into her hands. She was currently sat in the study of her home, a beautiful room with light green décor and silver trim. Beneath the desk, she had kicked of her shoes, curling her toes into the thick green carpet as she tapped the oak desk lightly with a fingernail, eying the piece of paper that had arrived in her office three days previously.

_Dear Madame Manageress,_

_So it is to be war between us? It would appear so, and for that you must face the consequences of your unfortunate actions. Let me make my requests _absolutely _clear, so there can be no mistake. _

_1. Box 5 _will _be left empty at every performance. No exceptions._

_2. You will not interfere in any press statements that are released. If I so choose to release information, it is for good reason. _

_3. My salary will consist of £8,000 a month. This will be left in Box 5 on the last day of every month by the hand of Antoinette Giry. She seems reliable enough to remain discreet in this matter._

_4. You shall not interfere in any future plans I make for the operas performed here. _

_It appears to me that you are not as capable as I once thought. If I were you, I would keep my head down or consider running home to your little husband and staying there. Clearly you are not prepared for the arduous task of running an opera house properly. Carry on in accordance to my requests and there shall be no problem between us. If not…you will find that actions speak far more loudly than words. For your own safety and that of your husband, I suggest you are compliant._

_O.G._

A familiar chill rushed through Christine again but she shook it away. This was so ridiculous, yet she could not bring herself to tell anyone, not even Raoul.

She couldn't admit, even to herself, that she was afraid. And she hated that fear. For a while impossible as it now seemed, she had enjoyed writing to this invisible person, this nonexistent pen pal. She had even taken his advice and begun practising the piano more often, attempting more and more challenging pieces. But now the game had begun frighteningly real. She had _not_ imagined that voice, anymore than she imagined the thin scabs on the palm of her hand, where her nails had pierced her own skin. She felt as though she had been made a fool of. But even worse was the near-constant fear that haunted her.

A white china cup clinked softly in its saucer as it was placed on the desk before her. She looked up with a start to see Alan putting down a plate with a sandwich on it beside the tea. He offered a soft smile before leaving. Christine smiled weakly and lifted the tea to her lips. The hot liquid scalded her mouth and she put it down again, the painful tingling on her tongue fading slowly away. She turned her eyes to the window. It was early evening on Friday and she would be returning to the opera house in a couple of hours to keep an eye on the performance. The reviews for _Romeo and Juliet_ had all been extremely pleasing and ticket sales were through the roof.

The telephone began to ring and she picked it up, not really wanting to answer.

"Hello?"

"Mrs de Chagny? It's Moncharmin. We wanted to know what seat you'll be taking tonight. Boxes 5, 9 and 12 are free." He said pleasantly. Christine scratched her cheek.

"I'll take Box 12."

"Excellent. I'll see you later on tonight."

"Yes." She hung up and decided to take a bath before returning to work. Unfortunately the phone began to ring again and she answered.

"Yes?" She said tiredly.

"Christine? You sound exhausted." Raoul's concerned voice echoed down the line. Christine leant back in her comfortable chair.

"I am. But at least it's the weekend tomorrow. I intend to rest constantly."

"Good for you. I just wanted to say that Phil and I might be back a little later than expected. We'll be in time for dinner though."

"That's fine. Everything is so hectic at work; I'll have time to finish it all by then, hopefully." Christine replied. "How's Phil?"

"Looking forward to seeing everyone again. Some people more than others." He said slyly. Christine smiled at the thought of Sorelli.

"I have to go and clean up before tonight. There's been a few dramatics at the opera house; I'm going to keep an eye on the performance tonight."

"Make you get plenty of rest, though."

"I will."

She put the phone down again, feeling the weight in her chest lift slightly at the thought of Raoul's homecoming. It was strange how just the thought of seeing him again could cheer her so much.

* * *

He watched her from the moment that she entered the building. He knew that she had received His note; He had watched her take it and slip it into her pocket before leaving three days ago. Since then, He had been occupied in His new home, but on this night, when she would be present and no doubt in a mind to cause Him trouble, He was taking special care to keep an eye on her.

However, she did seem too bent on causing a fuss. In fact, she went straight to her office to put some paperwork into her drawer before going backstage to speak with her sub-managers. Those two were even grater fools than she was, but at least they kept to themselves, for the most part. He listened more closely to their conversation.

"No, nothing unusual. Everything seems to be going to schedule." Richard assured her. She nodded and asked,

"What box are you sitting in?"

"Moncharmin and I are going to take Box 8. Peculiar that no one wanted Box 5 – there's such a perfect view from there."

"I've noticed some problems in there. I may cut it off for the rest of the season and have it inspected for safety, as well as having it touched up." The manageress said calmly. "No, I'm perfectly capable of organising it. By the way, I shan't be in tomorrow night. My husband and his brother are returning from America, but we'll be here on Monday's performance. I trust you and Moncharmin can cope."

She left and went to check in with the leading lady. Carlotta beamed beatifically at her.

"Yes, everything's fine, Mrs de Chagny. No more of those _ridiculous_ notes since you warned everyone about it."

"I see. Well, break a leg for tonight." The manageress offered. Carlotta smiled as her hairdresser began to arrange the red locks for the first act. De Chagny turned and left, walking to Box 12, opposite His own. He had to admit, her excuse for closing off Box 5 had been rather good; it was a simple enough explanation that would not cause unwanted attention

He abandoned His quarry for the time being, instead making his way to Box 5, which was plunged into darkness. With His black leather coat, black hat and black mask, the only part of Him that might have shown was His eyes, with their strange golden hue, luminous even in pitch darkness. But nobody was looking at the dark box as they hurried to their seats, clutching at their programmes and chattering obnoxiously amongst themselves. He watched the opposite box as de Chagny sank into her seat, crossing her legs elegantly and placing her hands demurely in her lap as she watched the curtained stage with a slightly creased brow. She reached into her bag and took out her mobile phone, apparently checking for messages before she turned it off.

Ten minutes later the curtain lifted and the opera began. He took out a piece of paper and pen, taking notes on the pieces that needed to be improved and suggestions that would be forwarded to Reyer. Tonight's performance was certainly better than it had been upon its opening. His recommendations had been taken to heart and He could hear whispers from below as the crowd commented on its excellence.

It was only when the interval arrived and the applause echoed around the room that He glanced back over at Box 12. The manageress did not seem to be moving. Instead she sat, watching the curtains with a listless expression on her face. After several moments she sighed and glanced at her watch. There was little to suggest that she would be joining the crowds now thronging out of the room to have drinks before the second half began. That was where she should have been, as a good manageress; charming the public and encouraging returns and patrons. He watched closely as she settled back in her chair.

Then her chin lifted and a frown crossed her face. For a moment she was still and then her head turned quickly to look directly at Him! Her eyes widened in horror and she grasped the edge of her box as her mouth opened as though to cry out. He quickly closed His eyes. To His watching companion, it must have looked as though the pair of yellow eyes had vanished into darkness. He gazed at her as she slowly released her grip on the balcony and settled back into her chair, eyes still wide and face excruciatingly pale. And then she got to her feet and hurried from her box. He quickly vacated his seat, knowing that she would be in his box in mere moments, pulling himself up to the ceiling, where he had removed a couple of the tiles that led to an air vent.

Sure enough, the curtains swung back and she stood there, a dark figure against the light of the corridor. The curtains swung back as she stepped into the box, more hesitant than a child venturing from the safety of their bedroom in the dead of night. She approached the chair slowly, her breath shallow. She looked down to the seat and didn't move when she saw that it was completely abandoned.

She bent down and flattened her palm against the seat, taking a quick breath as she felt warmth. Then her attention went to something on the floor. He hissed quietly, realising that it was his notes from the performance. She picked it up and scanned it, examining the scrawled words. He needed her _out_.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be left _empty_?"

She cried out as the words were whispered into her ear. She spun around, the notes flying from her hand and dropping to the floor like leaves. And then she disappeared from the box. He smirked and sank back down into His seat, knowing full well that she would not return that night.

* * *

Christine was having a nightmare. The worst kind possible, one that lingered for far too long after she had woken, sweating and gasping. Images of Joseph Buqet hanging from that rope, almost as though she were actually present at the scene once again, but he was still alive, still struggling, his fingernails tearing at his own throat in an effort to free himself.

But it wasn't Joe. It was Raoul. She remembered running to him, trying to lift him to stop him ripping his flesh apart. She was screaming, begging him to stop, but he was kicking her away without meaning to. And then his arms fells to his side, crimson droplets falling from his fingertips to join the stream running down his body to collect in a pool below his feet. Christine had fallen to her knees, sobbing and begging for it not to be true, only to hear that voice laughing and something tightening around her own neck.

She had woken to find the sheets tangled around her and had fought to get free, breathing so hard that her lungs were aching. After sitting up with her head buried in her knees, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, she had climbed out of bed to open the window. But it was no good. She reached for her dressing gown and slippers, intending to go down to the kitchen to make some tea.

The house was completely silent in the dark as Christine moved like a ghost, silently downstairs and entering the deserted kitchen. After turning the kettle on, she searched through the cupboards for a teapot and the teabags. She had rarely had occasion to come into this room and felt quite lost. Eventually she found everything and prepared the steaming drink before sitting at one of the surfaces with a packet of biscuits that she had discovered in one of the many cupboards. It was cold in the white and chrome decorated room but she ignored that, concentrating on the hot brown liquid and trying to forget the dream.

Christine broke off a piece of biscuit and chewed it slowly, wondering why Joe's death was frightening her now. She hadn't suffered nightmares before. It must have been from what had happened in Box 5. But what was _that_? She knew for certain now that she hadn't imagined that voice, but there had been no one there, no way that anyone could have whispered in her ear without her seeing them. The ball of fear in her chest was growing by the day because of this Opera Ghost. But who could she tell? The police would think her insane and the prospect of hiring an exorcist would be a major blow to her pride and sensible nature. But she couldn't just sit here and do nothing. There was something going on in that opera house, something that needed to be stopped.

And she was the only one who knew about it.

The kitchen door swung open and one of the female servants entered, before stopping dead in her tracks.

"Oh! Mrs de Chagny!"

"Don't mind me. There's tea in the pot, if you want it." Christine smiled vaguely. The woman flushed and nodded. Christine held out the biscuit packet. "I suppose you can't sleep either." "No… I'm a light sleeper. Are you alright?" She said, pouring her tea. Christine shrugged slightly.

"I had a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep. I'm sorry; I don't know your name…"

"Tara Cunningham." The woman smiled, accepting a biscuit. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not really. I'd rather just forget. I don't have the time to have nightmares." Christine said quietly. Tara smiled again.

"You don't seem to be home very often."

"I dread to think what would happen at the opera house if I stayed away for too long. Although sometimes I feel like just dropping everything and disappearing for a few weeks!"

They both sipped their tea before Christine glanced at the time.

"I'd better try and sleep. A thousand things to do before my husband gets back from America."

"Of course. Goodnight Mrs de Chagny." Christine rinsed her teacup in the sink and bade Tara goodnight before heading upstairs, determined to sleep.

* * *

He had always been a light sleeper. After all, one must always be on their guard, even though the possibility of someone coming down here was remote. The phrase, He believed, was to sleep with one eye open. 

He had learnt to do this very early on in life.

In fact, the only reason that He awoke so early that morning was because of the music. All sorts of sounds carried down here, especially now that He had fixed up sound equipment. A ghost had to know what was going on in His opera house, after all. At this particular moment, He could hear light piano music. He got to His feet and began to steal up towards the opera house. He suspected that He already knew who it would be, for no one else would be in this early.

Sure enough, in practise room 6, the manageress was seated at the piano, concentrating on the music before her. There was a frown on her face and she missed a key. Sighing irritably she lifted her hands from the keyboard to brush her hair back from her face before starting again. He watched with vague curiosity. She was proving to be far more troublesome than He had anticipated. Still, at least His scare-tactics had put her in her place.

This time she completed the piece perfectly. He had to admit, there was certainly passion to her playing. Where that passion came from in that blank face, He had no idea. She folded the music and sat looking at the piano for a moment before starting on another tune, from another piece of sheet music. He wasn't familiar with it, but it had a charming lightness to it. She paused and shook her head. Either the rest of the tune was too difficult for her, or she had no wish to play further. There was silence in the little room as she looked at the music. Somewhere far off, a door opened and the manageress started to hurriedly collect her things. In her haste, a sheet of music fell from the piano to fall unnoticed to the ground as she left.

He lowered Himself into the room and picked up the music. He did not know the composer, one Charles Daaé, but slipped it beneath His coat. He suspected that the new arrival was the Giry girl and de Chagny was going to speak with her. He decided to keep an eye on her before returning the piece of music to her office. He could not compose in comfort if she was plotting something. And He did not expect her to follow His demands without, at least, a little mutiny.

**A/N: Hello dahlings! Yes, I'm still here. But I have a very good excuse for taking so long. My shiny new beta and I both had exams. She had finals and I'm taking my A-levels. For those of you who aren't familiar with our fun English school system, I have to pass these exams to get into my first place university. Which I REALLY want to. **

**Once again, a round of applause for the charming TheAngelCried and her wonderful beta-ing skills. She is my Angel of Beta. Adore her greatly. Please leave a review, as I am still an Official Review Whore and I haven't been getting many lately. At this rate my huge ego shall begin to deflate and we can't have that now, can we? Lol…**

**Love and huggles**

**Katie**


	10. Chapter 10

**Behind Closed Doors**

"We're at the airport; we'll be home by seven thirty, eight at the latest, traffic being good." Raoul's voice was crackling over the poor connection. Christine glanced at the clock. It was only four in the afternoon, but by the time they had completed all of their airport checks, gotten to the car and driven the long journey that time would have passed.

"That's fine. I'll meet you at home." She said, stapling two pieces of paper together and slipping them into a tray.

"Can't wait to see you again." He said good-humouredly. She smiled.

"Same to you. I'll see you later."

She put the phone down and shifted her mouse to dispose of the screensaver, leaning her chin on her hand as she opened her documents folder to print off a form. Moncharmin and Richard could handle tonight, but there seemed to be at least a dozen small but essential tasks to be done. She spent a good hour on the computer, sorting out various bits of paperwork and authorising a request from the costumes department to hire another seamstress.

Her stomach growled and she realised that she'd missed lunch entirely. There had been some sort of disaster in the booking office that she'd had to sort out. Christine went in search of a snack, knowing that the chef would be putting on a full dinner for them that night. She'd brought a little food with her, leaving it in what was referred to as the 'common room'. It was a fairly large room where the performers could gather between rehearsals. It boasted a small kitchen area and comfortable chairs, a television in the corner and a CD player/radio. On the days when rehearsals were going badly or if only a certain group of performers were being used, the others tended to come here to relax or prepare. There was a group of chorus members there when Christine entered, as well as a few dancers.

Christine went to the kitchen area and took down a packet of cup-a-soup, tipping the red powder into a clean mug as Meg appeared, bending down to the refrigerator for her salad.

"Hi Mrs de Chagny."

"Hello Meg. Haven't you had lunch yet?"

"No time. Mum's been practising us all day. She's a complete slave driver." Meg moaned. "You couldn't fire her, could you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Didn't think so. Worth a try, though." Meg sighed, sitting at the table to eat. Christine smiled and reached across to the plug to turn on the kettle. And then she cried out as a painful jolt shot through her and sparks flew from the socket. She fell back, banging against the table as Meg and several other people in the room jumped up.

"What happened?" A few people asked frantically as Meg touched Christine, checking she was alright. Christine blinked hard and glanced over at the plug. It had fallen apart as she'd pulled back and she saw that the wires were exposed and a small piece of metal jammed into the socket. She must have touched it, causing the electric shock.

"I'm fine. Really…" She said, straightening up. "How long has that plug been like that?"

"I used it yesterday and it was fine." Gabrielle piped up.

"It must have been the ghost!" Someone said quietly. Christine frowned and they fell silent, remembering her furious outburst. One of the male chorus members stepped forward, looking a little pale.

"I… It was me. I'm sorry, I was just in a rush yesterday and I broke it, and I was going to tell someone but I was already late for rehearsal and…" He stopped talking, clearly expecting Christine to start screaming at him. But she merely shook her head.

"I'll ask one of the caretakers to sort it out. You'd better put it to one side, with a notice." She said quietly, pushing a curl behind her ear before turning and leaving the room.

She was in the corridor when she heard footsteps and a small, pale hand touched her shoulder.

"Mrs de Chagny? Are you sure you're OK?" It was Meg, looking anxious. Christine nodded, but didn't smile.

"Yes, of course I am. I just… oh, I don't know. I just wish something could go _right_ for a change."

"Things _are_ a bit crazy right now." Meg agreed sympathetically. Christine shook her head.

"I don't know… I suppose I've been spending too long here again. What with Raoul being out of town and all these ridiculous rumours, I just seem to spend every waking minute in my office trying to sort everything out."

"You should take a holiday." Meg suggested, smiling. "Get away from here and forget about everything."

"That sounds like a dream come true. I just wish it were possible at the moment." Christine sighed, glancing at her watch. "I'll talk to you later."

She returned to her office and sat down, noticing with disgust that her hands were trembling and despising the fact that her first thought had been of how it must have been the Phantom who had caused the accident. The instantaneous pain had been overshadowed by the sickness in her soul and for the briefest moment she had imagined that she had heard laughter. It seemed that her every thought seemed to come back to this creature that was haunting her opera house and her mind. Especially since the previous evening, when she had ventured into Box 5.

_Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be left empty?_

That voice! How cold it had been, how full of fury and how very dangerous… even if her nerves had not already been so tense it would have caused her to flee as she had done. She could not possibly pass that off as her imagination, as she had been trying to do when she had heard it in her office.

And then there was the matter of the eyes, shining from the deep blackness of Box 5.

Christine made a decision and took out her bag, pushing a few pieces of paper into it and reaching for her jacket. As she opened her office door, Moncharmin jumped back, clearly having been on his way to see her.

"Mrs de Chagny-"

"I'm going home, Mr Moncharmin. I'll be back on Monday and I shall be bringing Mr Philippe de Chagny, so I hope everything will go smoothly." She said calmly.

"Oh, I was… it's just that Mr Reyer is having a slight debate with Mr Mercier about-"

"Take care of it, please. I'll see you on Monday." Christine replied, moving past him determinedly. Moncharmin watched her go with an uneasy feeling swelling in his stomach.

* * *

Christine went straight upstairs and kicked her shoes off when she got home. Crawling onto the generously large bed, she lay on top of the covers and buried her face in the pillows. The sheets had obviously been changed earlier that day, smelling of flowery washing powder. Christine closed her eyes, breathing in the scent as she sank into the softness of the bed, settling down to sleep for at least an hour. After only a few moments a warm restfulness overcame her as she drifted into pleasant sleep, aware that in only a matter of hours Raoul would be back with her again.

* * *

He surveyed the elegant de Chagny home from the safety of His position. The sky was growing dark and no one could see the black figure stood amongst the large bushes and trees that were gathered around the house.

The gates were opening to give entrance to a sleek vehicle that slipped almost noiselessly down the driveway to the house. The doors flew open and He saw her hurrying down the steps as her young husband jumped out the car to catch her in his arms. There was a great deal of laughing between them, frantic kisses and embraces before she turned her attention to the second figure to have emerged from the car. He leaned forward in interest. This would be the other de Chagny brother, Philippe. This was the reason that He was hiding in bushes; a new face could cause no end of trouble if not properly anticipated.

The man was older than his sibling but just as handsome, with neatly combed hair and a moustache in contrast to his younger brother's short hair and smooth face. He greeted the manageress with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as they moved inside. He moved closer to the window of the room they had entered, a sitting room of sorts. The window was open and He slipped beneath it as the sound carried out to Him. They were discussing the flight and the business deal that the two brothers had been carrying out in America. They moved on to various different subjects, none of which interested him, but he waited patiently until they brought up the topic He was waiting for; The Opera Populaire.

"I told Moncharmin we'd be in on Monday." She explained. "You'll both be too tired tomorrow. It's a pity you can't stay longer though. But we can see the opera on Monday night, if you like, Phil."

"Yes, I'd very much enjoy that."

"I've booked Box 12." She said triumphantly, as if she had known that this would be his answer all along.

"Box 12? I thought you preferred Box 5?" The shadow outside the window stiffened curiously.

"I'm having a few repairs done on it. Besides, I've grown rather attached of Box 12. It's a wonderful view. Do you want some more wine, Raoul?"

Her husband accepted and they began to discuss the success of _Romeo and Juliet_. It was vaguely interesting but He was growing tired of their idle chit-chat. In fact, He was on the point of making His exit when something captured His attention again. It was the brother, asking,

"Christine, I don't understand why you never play your music anymore. You really were quite good."

"I don't have the time, Phil. I mean, I still practise the piano from time to time but… well; everything else is just too time consuming. I haven't picked up a violin in about five years."

"What about singing?" The husband said.

"Oh, Raoul. You know I haven't sung in ages; I'd sound awful. Besides, what's the point? It'd be much more constructive to put my time into getting the opera house organised." She said firmly. "I can't waste it on something so trivial when there are so many things going wrong."

"Is the Opera Ghost picking on you again?" The husband said in a teasing manner. She sighed heavily.

"Don't remind me."

"Opera Ghost?"

"Yes, it's some silly story that's floating around the Opera House. It started just before Buqet died and everyone's decided that there's a ghost taken up residence. And he's making life difficult for poor Christine."

"It's nonsense, Phil." She said in a decided manner. "Don't pay any attention to it. Just a few silly jokes by some bored stagehands. By the way, when do you want to have Sorelli to dinner? Raoul and I can clear out for an evening, if you want."

He had heard enough to keep Him occupied for that night. He turned and slinked into the velvet blackness of the night, thoughts running smoothly through His mind as He considered what He heard through the window.

* * *

Whilst Raoul was in their en-suite bathroom, Christine lay in bed, staring at the window. The curtains were swaying in the slight breeze. Christine frowned slightly, her hand tightening around the covers as that sickeningly familiar chill settled within her flesh. Even here, in the security of her home she felt as though she were being watched.

"Cold?" Raoul murmured as he slid into the bed beside her. She rolled over and smiled at him.

"No."

"Pity. I was going to warm you up."

"I _could_ be warmer…" She said with a teasing smile. Raoul grinned and pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms. She laid her head against him and sighed.

"I'm so glad that you're home. I hate it when you're away."

"Same here." Raoul said quietly, resting his chin on her head. "Hopefully I won't have to go away again for a long while."

She nodded but didn't speak. Because she was wondering why that feeling of fear hadn't completely vanished when Raoul had put his arms around her.

* * *

The opera house was a frenzy of excitement and activity when the three of them arrived on Monday morning. Raoul had a meeting later in the morning, but had decided to accompany his wife and brother. They were greeted at the door by an enthusiastic Moncharmin and Richard who whisked Philippe away to the theatre, with Raoul and Christine following in amusement. Raoul's fingers were wrapped around Christine's and she appreciated it. His warmth was a little help.

Whilst Richard tried to point out a particular piece of scenery, Christine noticed that Philippe's attention was instantly drawn to that of a tall and slender woman who was stretching on the stage. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a bun as she pulled herself up and extended her arms above her head. A moment later she noticed the man watching and lowered her arms, a small smile touching her pretty face. Neither of them made a move to go to each other, but the look between them was more than enough. Philippe turned to speak with Moncharmin and Sorelli continued with her stretches.

"G'morning Mrs de Chagny! Oh, and Mr de Chagny." Meg said, pausing to smile brightly at them. Christine returned the expression.

"Good morning Meg. Raoul, this is Antoinette Giry's daughter." She said, looking to her husband.

"Ah, of course. A pleasure, Miss Giry." Raoul said charmingly. Meg grinned and then jumped as her mother's voice announced that it would _not_ be much of a pleasure to be practising until midnight if she didn't get a move on. She scuttled away, followed by the ballet mistress who smiled briefly at the couple. Raoul grinned, obviously entertained by the whole affair whilst Christine watched Carlotta who had just emerged from her dressing room and was making a beeline for them. Christine turned to her husband.

"I just need to run to my office quickly."

She left just in time to avoid Carlotta and her gushing attitude towards the patrons. A few latecomers rushed past her and Christine stood to one side before continuing on to her office. She unlocked the door and went to her desk, glancing through the envelopes that had been waiting at the main office for her. There was nothing of huge importance so she left them unopened on her desk before sitting down to check her emails. But as she turned the computer on, she noticed a black-edged envelope. Steeling herself for what it might contain, Christine slid a finger under the fold and lifted it, her heart in her throat.

No scrawled letter fell out. A piece of thickly folded paper was tucked inside. Christine pulled it out and unfolded it curiously. Of all things, it was sheet music. She frowned, examining it. The paper was new and the music was handwritten. She didn't know the tune at all and there was no composer noted. Why on earth had he given her this? She traced the notes and looked around to see if anything else had been left. Nothing caught her eye and she looked back to the music before slipping it back inside the envelope and putting it in her bag before going to find Raoul.

* * *

Philippe had invited Sorelli out to dinner that night, so Christine and Raoul ate at home. Raoul couldn't help but noticed that she was somewhat distracted and commented on it as they finished their meal. She shook her head vaguely.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about the opera house."

"Well, don't. I forbid it." He said jokingly. She smiled and shrugged.

"I don't know… I just worry about what's going to happen."

"With the opera?"

"Among other things." She folded her napkin, placing it on the table in front of her. "There's been so many articles lately about… well, all sorts of things. And I've not been sleeping well. Sometimes I just feel like I'm going insane, Raoul."

He watched her across the table. She was holding her wineglass and staring at the liquid within, lost in her own mind. There was a lost, desolate expression her delicate features and it made his chest ache for her.

"Tell me, Christine. What is it that's made you so… upset?" He asked quietly. She glanced up at him before looking back to the tablecloth.

"I wish I _could_ tell you, Raoul. But I don't even know what it is, myself."

"Couldn't you just tell me what happened when I was gone? Because something did happen, didn't it?" He moved around the table to clasp her hands in his. "Something happened and you don't want to tell me about it. But I wish you would."

"Raoul…" There were no words. No possible way to explain what had happened. She could have told him about the letters left by a ghost with glowing yellow eyes, but she could not explain the horrific fear that she felt deep inside her soul. She couldn't even explain it to this man, whom she loved more than anything in this world.

Christine shook her head.

"Nothing happened. I just feel… different. Strange."

"I think I know why." Raoul said, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. She looked at him in surprise, feeling slightly ill.

"You do?"

"Christine, it's been nearly ten years." He said gently. "It's bound to have affected you."

The nausea was replaced by a wave of grief. Ten years…

_Papa…_

With an ache of guilt she nodded and felt tears rise in her eyes at the rush of memories of her departed father. She had almost forgotten that the anniversary of his death would be the following month. Suddenly she was able to picture him perfectly in her minds eye, sitting in the cosy chair by the fire, reading a tattered book with a furrowed brow, his dark hair gleaming in the inconsistent flicker of the light that came from the flames. She could almost the waves crashing on the other side of the windows as she remembered running to him, smelling the familiar scent of his clothes as he lifted her and began to talk to her in his gentle voice. How could she have nearly forgotten him? The man who had raised her by himself, who had been with her in nearly every moment of her childhood?

A tear trickled down her cheek and she felt a warm hand wipe it away. She opened her eyes and saw Raoul watching with a face that must have reflected her own pained expression. She couldn't help letting out a small moan of sadness at the memories. This tiny anguished sound caused Raoul to reach over and hug her tightly as she wept into his shoulder, her tears dampening the cloth of his shirt.

"We can go and see him. Next month." He whispered. Christine pulled back to look him in the face and then nodded, sniffling in an ungraceful manner that usually belied her character.

"Yes. Yes, we must go." She said in a constricted voice. "Raoul, I just miss him so much…"

"I know you do." He said, going to hug her again. She accepted his embrace willingly, wishing that the warmth of his body could heat the cold emptiness within.

**A/N: Hello dearies. I know that this chapter is very much filler, but never fear! For Chapter 11 shall hold much excitement, suspense and actual meetings of Christine and Erik. Yes, I know, it's absolutely shocking!**

**Anywho, usual love must be sent to my Angel of Beta – TheAngelCried. May she live long and beta.**

**Read, review and feed my addiction. A Review Whore needs her fix.**

**Love**

**Katie**


	11. Chapter 11

**Behind Closed Doors**

It was early on Monday morning when Christine left the de Chagny home. She had written a brief note to Raoul saying that she wanted to sort a few things out at the opera house.

_I need to be alone for a while. I'll be home in time for dinner so we can see _Romeo and Juliet _tonight. Please don't worry, Raoul. I just have to think things through._

She picked up her bag and began the walk to the opera house, turning into the sunlit park. There were a few people walking dogs and a woman jogging with headphones in her ears. Christine didn't stop, but walked slowly and allowing the sunshine to soak into her. The sweet warmth of it began to banish the haunting coldness of the previous night, although she doubted that this was entirely possible.

Christine climbed the steps to the Opera Populaire and took out her key. She unlocked the door and typed in the security code. She was the first person in today, unsurprisingly as it was so early. After putting her bag and jacket in her office, she took the envelope that she had received the previous day and walked to the practise rooms. She had debated this decision a great many times in her mind before finally coming to the conclusion that no harm ever came from playing a piece of music. And besides, he would not have left the music if he did not want her to play it.

However, this in itself aroused many questions. Why _had_ he left it? Their last piece of correspondence had hardly been one that implied further amity. True, the Phantom had taken quite an interest in her musical ability, but this sudden presentation of music was certainly not in character.

Christine sat at the piano and placed the music upon the stand. She began to play, uncertainly at first, but then with more confidence. And then she hardly needed to play at all, because her hands took over and she was lost.

If she had tried to describe the music to someone later, the correct adjective would have been – eerie. Not in the sense it is often used, so casually and carelessly. The true meaning – unnatural, strange, peculiar, but not necessarily in the negative way that these words usually employed. As the music overwhelmed her, she found that she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think, or feel. Her senses were cut off completely. All she knew was that there was an intense sound ringing in her mind, and all around her. It was sweet and painful and so, _so_ beautiful. But it wasn't the piano, for her hands were no longer moving on the keys.

It was a voice.

It was _her_ voice.

As suddenly as she realised this, the sound faded. A pale hand lifted to touch her throat as Christine tried to understand exactly what had happened. But she couldn't understand. She couldn't remember when she had stopped playing and started singing. She had never known that she was capable of producing such a sound!

Had it even been music? She couldn't remember singing any notes, and there were no words on the paper. All she could recall was sound. Sound that surpassed notes and harmonies. Sounds produced only by angels and only when they were signing the praises of the Highest.

The familiar fear was back now, but it was entwined with something else. It was wonder. Christine lowered her hand and placed it calmly in her lap. Strange, how she could be so calm when only a few days earlier this would have produced such horror. She stood, taking the music and returning to her office, almost dazed from the incident. She sat at her desk and took a piece of writing paper.

* * *

_Who wrote it?_

He examined the note that had been left in His box as He watched the rehearsals. I t consisted of that one line. No signature (as if He really needed one) and no other comments on recent events.

But He wasn't surprised. Oh, no. Whilst He hadn't expected her to be so brazen as to write Him a letter, He had expected something. If what He had overheard was true, and she was as musically inclined as suggested, He knew that He could make an ally of Christine de Chagny. Leaving the music for her to find had almost been a test. And she had certainly passed.

Women were fickle creatures. It was true that He did not know them particularly well but He was certainly aware of what would intrigue them. He was used to dealing with men. They were simple. But women were so changeable – He had needed a way to connect with de Chagny. Whilst the threats had worked well enough, He now wanted to make her more amiable. She knew her place and would stay in it. But there was no need to keep her there by force if he could control her with music.

He had been struggling to decide how to test the depths of her so-claimed love of music. Giving her one of His own pieces of had not been something that He had done easily. But it had worked. She had tasted her forbidden fruit and would now crave more. The note in His hand was more than enough to prove that. This music was an addiction, more so than any substance He had in His possession.

The next step was to take His time replying. A couple of days, maybe. Let her grow impatient and then deliver at the last moment, with another piece of music as temptingly sublime as the last. Next time He would be waiting for her, would be there to judge her for himself. It was only a matter of time before Christine de Chagny was completely within His power and then it would be time to start doing things His way.

* * *

For the next few days, Christine avoided going to work early, choosing instead to lie awake beside Raoul as he slept peacefully. Spending so much time alone was a sensible explanation for the strange feelings she had been experiencing lately. However, far from feeling lonely, the sensation was that she was _never_ alone. It was far more disturbing than the awareness of complete isolation.

Today though, she rose and went to shower. Standing naked below the pattering stream of hot water, she closed her eyes and let the water clean her mind as well as her body. She was in a good mood. It was already Thursday and everything had been going well. Philippe and Sorelli were on better terms than ever, work was going perfectly and Raoul was as wonderful as he ever was.

She dressed in a white skirt and blouse, with a black blazer over the top. Raoul was stirring as she went back into the bedroom. He smiled sleepily at her from the bed.

"I thought I'd broken you out of this habit."

"I know. I've got a lot to do today. I'll have to stay late tonight as well."

"Do you _have_ to?" He said, sliding up in the bed to sit. She perched on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Well, my theory is that if I get as much as humanly possible done today we can take the entire weekend off. So it'll be worth it in the long run." She explained. Raoul nodded and put his hands behind his head, leaning against the headboard.

"I suppose so. Since Phil's in London for the weekend, we can take advantage of the house being empty as well. Give the servants Saturday night off, order in some disgustingly unhealthy food and just enjoy ourselves." He grinned. Christine smiled and kissed him.

"Exactly. I'll see you tonight. And remember you've got that meeting at twelve, don't go back to sleep."

"Yes mum." He teased as she left.

* * *

Christine's footsteps echoed around the empty opera house as she walked to her office. But she paused as she turned the corner because the door to her office was already open. She quickly retreated behind a pillar and watched, waiting for a figure to emerge. She heard footsteps and then someone came out of her office.

Mrs Giry pulled the door to and Christine stepped out.

"Good morning, Mrs Giry." She said sharply. The ballet mistress looked around.

"Good morning. Excuse me being in your office, I found a letter addressed to you in the practise room. It wasn't opened, so I left it on your desk." She calmly. Christine nodded.

"It's fine. Thank you."

"Excuse me." The older woman walked past, as composed as always. Christine went to the door of her office, not noticing how Mrs Giry glanced rather anxiously over her shoulder before hurrying away.

The envelope was the same as the last, with the thickly folded music inside. Christine pulled out and searched for a note. Once again, there was nothing, not even a name. She sighed and sat down to read the music. Humming it under her breath, she was but a few lines in before she forced herself to stop, not wanting to become completely lost in it as she had last time. After work, she decided, she would go to the music room and play it then.

She pushed it back into the envelope and then paused. There was no writing on the envelope, no name. Christine frowned. Mrs Giry had said that it had been addressed to her…

Christine glanced towards the door and then hurriedly put the envelope out of sight, pulling a piece of work towards her. But she was unable to banish the thought that the Ghost had ordered her to give him his salary by way of Antoinette Giry. This left her two lines of thought; either Mrs Giry _was_ the Ghost and was using this as an opportunity to make some money, or she was in league with whatever character was calling itself the ghost. From what she knew of Antoinette as a person, both of these seemed highly unlikely. But there _had_ to be some explanation.

* * *

Why wasn't she _playing_? He peered down from His hiding space as the manageress sat at the piano and read and reread the music. Her hands were on the keys but she made no move to actually play the music. A couple of times she had even taken her hands away, as though the instrument had burned her.

His attention went to her as she let out an annoyed sigh. She stood from the piano and took the music in her hands, strolling the room and staring down at the paper. Slowly she began to hum under her breath. He leaned forward to listen more closely, His brow in a frown beneath the mask. She stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, singing the notes clearly. Occasionally she got a note wrong, or hesitated over a bar, but… how beautiful that voice was!

And how dead.

The clarity was so sweet, the pitch so perfect but there was no _life_ behind the song. This music had been written with such passion but this woman lacked the mere ability to tap into that passion. She reached the end of the first page and then stopped, looking over what she had just sung. She traced the music softly with a finger and then shook her head. He knew that she was planning to leave, but could not allow her to, not now that He had heard such a voice.

"_Sing for me…_" He murmured. She looked up with a sharp gasp, for the voice had sounded so close to her that it might have been within her head. She didn't run though. She stayed in her position in the middle of the room, clutching the paper tightly. After a moment she surprised Him utterly.

"Who are you?"

"_Who do you want me to be?_" He asked, rather amused. She frowned.

"That's not an answer." She said rather angrily. "Who are you? Are you the Phantom?"

"_How does one define themselves? If we are asking such unanswerable questions, who are _you?"

"You know who I am. I'm the manageress here."

"_Ah, a manageress. A woman. A wife. Christine de Chagny. Mrs de Chagny. The woman who sings when she thinks that no one is listening. Which of these would you take as your title?_" He mocked.

She stepped back, unsure of herself.

"I… I'm all of them." She murmured, before shaking her head to clear her mind. "Stop it! Tell me who you are!"

"_Do you like my music, Christine de Chagny?_" Christine looked down at the paper in her hands. It was slightly damp from her hands sweating and her nails had torn slight holes in it.

"You… wrote this?"

"_I did. Sing it again, Christine de Chagny._" The voice was strangely soothing, coaxing… dangerously tempting. Christine knew she shouldn't, mustn't, because if she did, it would mean not being able to go back. Eve could not put the apple back on the tree.

And yet that ghostly sound was pouring from her lips once more. Unbidden, it flooded the room, as sweet and thick as fresh honey. It was drowning her, but she was so alive. So free and so absolutely limitless.

She stopped abruptly and put a hand to her forehead.

"No… this is… what is this?" She felt faint, but there was a buzzing sensation in her head and chest that was impossibly vibrant. "Tell me who you are. Did you kill Joseph Buqet? Why are you _here_?" These last words were a cry of anger and fear as Christine threw the music from her being, as though it were poisoning her through the slightest touch.

He laughed and the laughter was so terrible that Christine put her hands over her ears, barely noticing the tears that were streaming from her eyes. She fell to her knees, shaking her head and murmuring under her breath that it wasn't real.

And then it was all gone. The spell was broken and it took Christine a moment to realise what had shattered the horrific atmosphere. It was the piercing sound of her mobile phone ringing in her pocket. She fumbled for it and answered quickly.

"Yes?"

"Christine? Are you alright?" Said the concerned voice of Philippe. Christine sniffed hard.

"Yes, I'm… I'm alright. I'm just… sorry, did you need something?"

"I was wondering if you could bring home those finance files we were discussing yesterday. Are you _sure_ you're alright? You sound as if you've got a cold or something."

"I'm fine, Phil. It's just hay fever." She had never suffered from hay fever in her life, but he didn't know that. "It's not a problem. I'll be home in an hour or so."

"Alright. I'll see you at dinner. Take care." He said, sounding concerned. Christine said goodbye and ended the call. She put the phone back into her pocket and looked over at the music. With a quick glance around, she picked it up and began to run to her office. Once inside, she stuffed the pieces of paper into the shredder, watching as they were sliced into thin strips. With that done, she took handfuls of the paper and went to the women's toilets. She threw the paper into the lavatories and flushed again and again until there was nothing left of the music. With this task done, she turned to the mirror and splashed cold water onto her face until the red puffiness had receded.

Once she had collected her jacket and bag, she set off home, unaware of the dark figure who was watching from the roof of the Opera Populaire.

* * *

There was little said at dinner. Christine picked at her food whilst Raoul and Philippe discussed business from time to time. Eventually she put her fork down and excused herself to go to bed. Raoul looked at her in concern.

"Do you feel ill?"

"Just worn out." She smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine by morning."

But despite her assuring attitude, the two brothers looked at each other anxiously. Philippe had already related the distressed phone call to his younger sibling and Raoul was now seriously considering calling a doctor.

"It won't do any good, Raoul. As you said, if this is distress over her father, a doctor won't be of any use. Put the stress of work on top of that and you can understand how she's feeling."

"I have to do _something_, Phil. I can't just let her carry on like this."

"See how she is after the weekend. If she's still feeling bad by then, why don't you take her away? Go to the villa or come to America. Maybe things will work themselves out." Phil said in a comforting tone.

Christine stood outside the door, listening to their conversation. Go away? It would be wonderful to do such a thing, but even in America she would be unable to forget what had happened here. But something had to change. She couldn't go on like this for much longer. But what would running away really do? These problems would still be here for her when she came back.

_He _would still be waiting.

* * *

She was being very dull today. He had almost hoped that she would return to the music room, but it seemed that that was not on her agenda. Instead she sat in her office, leaving the door open in order to prevent any misbehaviour on His part. There was music playing on her computer, Fauré's _Le Papillion et la Fleur_. She was typing quickly, her eyes flickering over the screen, but it was painfully obvious that she wasn't paying attention. She paused in her work to rub the back of her neck. She had been bent over the keyboard for some time and it was clearly taking its toll.

She leant back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. Letting out a slow sigh, she reached for her coffee cup and drained the last of the lukewarm liquid. He shook His head slowly as she continued to type. Did she truly think that this was over?

How very mistaken she was.

* * *

Christine's day passed calmly enough. Even Richard and Moncharmin seemed to be restraining themselves from rushing to her every fifteen minutes. As a result, Christine was able to finish a satisfying amount of work and even allowed herself to drop in on rehearsals to watch as the ballerinas graced the stage.

Despite her reasonable mood, she still felt tense. All day long she had known that she was being watched. Even now, she felt those golden eyes piercing into her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She glanced up at Box 5. It was empty, as she had expected it to be; but she did not look away.

"Mrs de Chagny?" Christine looked away quickly to meet Mrs Giry's eyes. The older woman frowned slightly. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, fine." Christine answered, almost too quickly. Giry did not look convinced. She too looked up at Box 5. Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Did you want something, Mrs Giry?"

"You seemed distracted. I wondered if you were feeling unwell."

"I'm fine, thank you. The rehearsals are going well?"

"Perfectly." Mrs Giry continued to look at her for a moment before adding, "I'd like you to know that if there is… anything wrong, you can come to me."

Christine looked at her sharply but she was already walking away. For a wild moment, Christine wanted to chase after her and demand that she tell all that she knew. But that may not achieve anything more than making everyone present believe that she was mentally unstable. A theory that Christine herself was not too certain on at the present moment of time. There was only one place to go for answers. There was only one (was person the correct phrase?) who could explain. Christine knew that without answers she would be forced to live like this forever, if this strange limbo between dreaming and waking could even be called living.

Christine wanted to wake up now.

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. My beta and I have both been incredibly busy! Now, I know I promised actual meetings between Erik and Christine. And in a sense there was. But it didn't entirely pan out that way in the writing process. But I promise there will be much more action very soon! Please review, they're always greatly appreciated! And the usual love kudos to TheAngelCried in her uber-greatness! **

**Love **

**Katie **


	12. Chapter 12

**Behind Closed Doors**

Christine tapped her foot against the leg of the piano bench as she waited in the music room. Having left a message on Raoul's mobile telling him that she'd be a bit late, she had come to wait for… well, she didn't really know what. For the voice, she supposed, or a person. She had already been waiting for twenty minutes. She wondered if she should say something. Would he hear her? After all, everyone else had left; it wasn't as though someone would hear her talking to herself if there was no reply. Who would want to hang around work on a Friday night?

Feeling incredibly foolish, she hesitantly opened her mouth.

"…Hello?" Nothing but silence answered her. Christine sighed irritably and lifted the piano lid. She began to play a quick tune but stopped after a few bars to listen. There was still no sign that anyone was listening.

She left soon after.

**(Line Break)**

Since Philippe was due to leave the next morning, he was having dinner with Sorelli at a restaurant. Christine and Raoul ate before moving to the sitting room with wine. He told her about his day and she listened with a smile as he asked her opinion on a variety of things that he knew she was completely clueless about. It was just his way of wanting to include her in every aspect of his life, something that Christine loved about him.

"Christine, you've got to stop me rambling like this. Tell me about your day." He said eventually, kissing her cheek. She smiled and shrugged.

"Same old. Plenty of paperwork and many uninteresting occurrences." She said. Raoul lifted an eyebrow.

"You mean to tell me that not one interesting thing happened all day?"

"Exactly. Moncharmin and Richard were capable for an entire day, I wasn't interrupted at all."

"So miracles do happen." Raoul laughed. Christine laughed too, setting her wine glass on the table and tucking her legs up beneath her.

Raoul watched her for a moment, admiring her graceful movements in even that small activity. She caught him watching and smiled, leaning over for a kiss. He gladly welcomed the embrace before the thoughts that had been anxiously tugging at his mind compelled him to say something.

"Christine, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" She said, looking mildly curious. He put his glass down beside hers and took her hands in his, steeling himself for the conversation that would follow.

"I've noticed that you've been rather… out of character lately." He said slowly, "You keep insisting that you're alright, but I'm still worried. I know part of it is because of your father, but I was wondering…" His voice died. Christine frowned and squeezed his fingers gently.

"Raoul?"

"I know we agreed that this wasn't time, because we're still focusing on our careers. But we've been married for over three years and I'm just wondering if maybe you've changed your mind."

She looked at him blankly. Raoul suddenly felt unbelievably awkward.

"Changed my mind?" She asked. Raoul swallowed hard and said,

"Christine… do you want to have a baby?" It took a few moments for Christine to acknowledge what he was suggesting. She smiled slightly and placed her hand on his cheek. The soft touch of her fingers made Raoul feel suddenly less foolish than he had only moments before.

"Oh, Raoul, I… that wasn't it at all. I still don't think we're ready for that, not right now. There are still so many reasons why we shouldn't have one yet."

"I feel the same. I just wish I knew what was going on in your head. I wish I could help." He said, "It was the only explanation I could think of for why you seemed so distracted. We decided not to have a baby, but that was a while ago. I don't know… maybe I thought you weren't comfortable bringing it up."

"You thought that it was my maternal instincts kicking in?" She smiled slightly and Raoul grinned.

"I guess so. It sounds rather ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"I know I've been a bit distant lately. I just… I don't know. But just having you with me is more than enough. I'll sort it out and then we can go back to how we were before."

It was a promise that Christine wasn't sure that she could keep. But for all the world, she would not have hurt Raoul by saying different. Even as they lay in bed that night, she watched him sleeping and thought about the best way to assure him. She rolled over and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. It was rather cold. She glanced at the window and frowned to see that it was open.

She slid out of bed and shivered as the cool air encased her, slicing through her thin pyjamas. After the warmth of her bed and the companionable heat of Raoul's body, it was like stepping into a deserted wasteland of ice. It reminded her of those nights when she was small, when the need to get a drink of water was fought by the utter fear of the darkness and unwelcoming coldness. Of course, nothing frightening ever did happen on those ventures to the bathroom, but the imagination of a child can make any experience terrifying.

Christine reached the curtains that were buffeting slightly in the breeze. She reached out to pull the handle in but froze, her hand still outstretched. A pair of eyes was staring at her out of the darkness, golden and glinting. It took a moment for Christine to take a step back, pulling the window shut quickly. As suddenly as they'd appeared, the eyes were gone.

"Christine…?" She turned and saw Raoul sitting up, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just shutting the window." She whispered, walking back to the bed and not daring to glance back to the glass. Raoul was already dozing, so she didn't say anything further.

A few minutes after the adrenaline had drained from her system and her heartbeat had calmed, she looked back at the window. There was nothing there, although she hadn't expected there to be. She slowly sat up, drawing her knees up under her chin. He had followed her home. This terror was no longer to be confined to the opera house, but was now slowly beginning to invade every aspect of her existence. She climbed out of her bed again and reached for her clothes.

**(Line Break)**

The air in the dead of night was a curious one. So strangely silent, with a peculiar coolness and moisture that flooded Christine's skin until she felt as though she was sweating. It felt horribly ominous as she walked to the Opera Populaire, as though her body already knew of the danger she was facing. The occasional car passed, but she met no one else walking at this insanely early hour.

She unlocked the door and turned off the security alarm. The CCTV cameras were on constantly, but the major alarms were only on at night. Only a few people had the access to activate the alarm system. Christine, Mrs Giry, Moncharmin and Richard were the main ones, although Phil and Raoul had the information in case of emergencies. Once it was safely disabled, she turned on the corridor lights from the main system and walked quickly to the music room, her footsteps disturbingly loud in the deserted corridors. Opening the door to the practise room, she flicked on the light and looked around. There was nothing out of the ordinary that caught her eye.

"Where are you?" She demanded loudly to the empty room. There was no sound for several moments and then the voice spoke, as if from an invisible person standing beside her.

"_Such an inhospitable hour for visits. Tell me; wouldn't you rather be sleeping with your boy than shouting yourself hoarse in an empty opera house?_"

The softly mocking tone of the voice angered Christine further. But the anger was still entwined with the fear that she always seemed to feel in this room. She gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists.

"Quite clearly this opera house is _not_ empty. And I was sleeping peacefully until you decided to come and stand outside my window. I want you out of my opera house and I want you to get out of my life!"

"_How very egotistical, assuming that this is all about you._"

"If it isn't, why were you at my home?"

"_Surely you know the phrase 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? As it happens I don't have friends – therefore I'm being very close with you._"

"That is enough!" Christine shouted. He fell silent and she looked around. "I have put up with this for long enough. You will leave immediately!"

To her furious surprise, he began to laugh softly. For the first time since her arrival, she began to feel that her safety might be more at stake than her pride. After all, hadn't this… _thing_ killed Joseph Buqet? Her fury was quelled slightly to be replaced a nervous apprehension. But she had not come this far to quake in fear. She held her ground and waited until the laughter had died away to a slight chuckle.

"_My dear manageress, might I remind you of what I have given you? I have given you the gift of music. Such a wonderful gift, and you would throw it away so easily?_"

"This has nothing to do with music. You are here illegally. You have murdered and threatened members of my company, as well as threatening the safety of my husband! I am calling the police and I will have you arrested for what you've done!" She announced, sounding far braver than she actually was.

"_You are going to have them arrest a ghost?_"

"You are not a ghost! I don't know who you are, but you aren't a ghost. I'm calling the police now!"

She turned and reached for the door handle.

"_Stop._" Christine half paused and then slid her fingers around the handle. She stepped out and then turned with a gasp as she heard something fall behind her. She swung around and tried to scream, but it stuck in her throat as the figure straightened. Clad in black clothing, a black leather coat swaying around him and with a hood pulled low over his face, he was a terrifyingly tall figure standing over her by at least a foot. Christine felt frozen to the spot, but as the figure lifted a leather-clad hand to touch her, she let out a low gasp and stumbled back, slamming the door shut and running as fast as she could towards the entrance. The door opened milliseconds later and Christine glanced over her shoulder to see a shadow chasing after her.

Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly she could hear it. Her legs ached from running and there were tears welling up in her eyes, tears of inexpressible fear. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, it was to see the creature drawing ever closer. Her breathing was strained; her chest was so tight that she couldn't take in the air. The entrance was just around the corner and Christine dug in her pocket to find the key. But it was gone. She suddenly realised that hers were the only footsteps. She slowly came to a stop and turned. He was stood at the end of the corridor, his hand raised. Enfolded in the black cloth, she saw the glint of her keys.

She stared at him for a moment and then darted down a different corridor. He began to chase her again, but she was already reaching into her pocket for her mobile phone. She glanced down at the numbers at the most unfortunate moment. Her feet stumbled over a loose carpet edge and she fell heavily to the ground, her elbow cracking against the marble. Intense pain shot up her arm but she was already dragging herself to the phone. Dialling 999, she lifted the receiver to her ear only to have it knocked from her hand. She tried to turn but a cloth pressed over her mouth and nose. Her arm was throbbing intensely and she tricked to scream, but only inhaled whatever fumes the cloth was soaked in. Her legs gave way but she was being propped up; her vision was blurring over, tiny black dots swirling in front of her eyes as she heard a small tinny voice speaking from the dropped telephone.

She vaguely felt the sensation of turning and tried to see the face of her hunter as he laid her on her back and turned off her phone. But there was no face to be seen, and with that strange thought, Christine sank into unconsciousness.

**(Line Break)**

Nausea was creeping its way through Christine's body as she lay with her eyes closed. With a pounding head, she opened her eyes. The room was dark and she lay still for several moments, taking everything in. She was lying on a bed, unmade so she was directly on the bare mattress. The room smelt damp and old and musty, as though it had not been entered for many years. She pushed herself up but almost instantly collapsed as she tried to put weight on her left arm. It gave way beneath her and she let out a moan of pain. She shuffled her way into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed and looked down at her arm. It was strangely swollen around the joint and there was a large purple bruise spreading from it. She swallowed (painful in itself as her throat was parched) and tried to lift her arm. She could and was also able to make a fist, so she assumed that it wasn't broken. She also took in the information that she was still dressed in her t-shirt and jeans, her trainers still on her feet. The only parts of her that ached were her arm and her head, which answered the most disturbing question of all.

She cast her mind back to what had happened. Running, petrified, through the hallways of the Opera Populaire, hitting her arm, breathing in the drugged fumes and looking up at her captor. Why couldn't she recall what he looked like? She remembered black clothing

Christine looked around the room. There was no light, but she could make out two doors. There was also a wardrobe and a desk, but she wasn't interested in these. She swung her legs off the bed and a sudden rush of nausea went through her again. She forced the feeling back and stood shakily, moving to the first door. A quick glance inside told her that it was some sort of bathroom, with the basic facilities and as filthy as the room she was presently stood in. She closed the door and went to the other one. Turning the handle softly, she glanced out. She could see what looked like a large room, with a few other doors coming off it. There were a few chairs, a table and even a fireplace, which was lit. She couldn't hear anyone, so she pushed the door open a little further, stepping out into the room. There were electric lights placed around the room, but apparently no main light, so the room was cast in furtive darkness. The floor was no more than concrete, but the walls were hung with sheets of dark fabric, mismatched and strange, but fitting for this unearthly place.

Christine moved into the room and looked around. The first thing she searched for was a clock, but there was none. She looked at her wrist, but her watch was gone. The second thing that caught her attention was the food and drink set on the table. Bread, cheese, grapes and what looked like wine and a jug of water. Her stomach growled, nausea forgotten, but Christine didn't touch the food. She didn't trust it not to be poisoned or at least drugged. Instead she searched for a sign of the mysterious creature that had brought her here; wherever _here_ was. But no figure emerged from the darkness.

She went to one of the doors and opened it. It led to another room. What looked like a portable gas oven was set up, similar to the sort that one would use when camping. Christine closed the door and went to the next. Another bathroom, as basic as the one that she had found before. She moved on and reached for the next door, but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Her heart began to beat furiously as she looked around for something to defend herself with. Darting to the table, she seized a knife. It wasn't sharp but it was better than nothing. She turned to face the arch that led to impossible darkness, listening in terror as the footsteps became louder.

His shadow appeared first, sliding up the side of the arch as he stepped into view. Still dressed all in black, he turned his face towards her and Christine suddenly realised why she couldn't remember his face. It was because she had never seen one. His face was covered with a mask, black in colour and made from what looked like some stiff material. It left only his eyes and mouth exposed and Christine recognised those eyes immediately. She unconsciously took a step back, still clutching the knife tightly in her right hand. The eyes flickered to it momentarily before glancing her over. He didn't speak but crossed the room to the side that Christine had not yet explored. There was a velvet curtain overhanging part of it. He drew it back to reveal a magnificent organ; it was the only item in the room that looked entirely clean. He reached into his coat and drew out several sheets of music, placing them on the stand of the instrument before turning to look at her again.

Christine held herself steady, the knife raised, as he met her eyes. He removed his coat and laid it casually over a nearby chair before speaking.

"Unless you're going to cut bread with that knife, I suggest you lower it." The voice was cool and just as haunting as it had been when it came from thin air. Christine didn't move as she examined him. His shirt had long sleeves and as he removed his gloves, she noticed that his fingers were strangely long and thin, the bones protruding awkwardly under the skin. The rest of him was just as painfully thin and long, not to mention incredibly pale, from the parts of skins that she could see. The whiteness of his hands and chin seemed unnatural. Now that the hood was lowered, she could see thick black hair that reached his chin.

He took a step forward and Christine retreated, backing into a wall. Her injured arm knocked against the wall and she cried out. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the cold concrete. Christine fell to her knees, desperately reaching for her only defence but a heavily-booted foot fell upon the blade, forcing Christine to snatch her fingers back. She looked up hesitantly. He was staring down at her, his eyes emotionless.

"Stand up." She had no choice but to obey. He offered no hand to help her but watched as she clumsily got to her feet, still pressed against the wall in an attempt to put the most distance possible between them. He glanced at her elbow and went to a cabinet. She couldn't see what he was doing but when he turned, he was holding a poultice. She could smell it faintly, a mixture of unfamiliar herbs permeating the air. He set it on a small table next to her.

"Hold it to your elbow. It will lower the swelling and numb the pain."

"And I should take the advice of someone who has just attacked me?"

The words had escaped her before she could stop herself. He looked at her calmly.

"Then stay in pain, it makes no difference to me."

"Where am I? Tell me who you are!" She demanded. He turned away.

"Do not delude yourself with illusions of grandeur. You are in my home and whilst you are here you will be the respectable woman I know you to be."

He moved over to the organ and sat, scratching at the music with a pen. Christine glanced at the bandage and tentatively lifted it to her arm. It almost instantly sent warmth through the bruising and Christine sighed in relief as she tied it around her arm. He ignored her and after a few moments of silence she took a couple of tentative steps to the archway he had come through.

"If you try to leave, you will get lost. If you get lost here, you will die of hunger before you can find a way out." He said softly, not looking up from his work. Christine glared at the back of his head and he raised a hand to gesture at the table.

"Eat. That food is for you."

"How do I know it isn't poisoned?" She spat.

"Because if I was going to go through the trouble of killing you, I would hardly do it in my own home where you would only create a mess." He said sharply, still working.

Christine glanced at the food. The sensation of hunger was unbearable, gnawing painfully at her stomach. She reached for a slice of bread and spread a slice of cheese on it. The first bite was so delicious that she forced the rest into her mouth, chewing as quickly as possible, already preparing a second piece. After the third piece she stopped and poured herself some water. No wine, she didn't want to risk being incapacitated.

Once she had eaten her fill, she turned once more to look at her captor. He was still working silently.

"Will you at least tell me who you are?" She asked quietly, politely. Clearly shouting and fury were not going to persuade him at all. He stopped and then placed his pen on the organ. He stood and turned to look at her, an imposing figure against the shadowy backdrop.

"Who I am?"

"You're obviously not a ghost. So you must have a name." Christine pointed out. He bowed his head slightly in a tiny nod.

"It is true, Christine de Chagny. I am not a ghost or phantom… I am Erik."

**A/N: Wow, a relatively speedy update! You must be so proud. I'm pretty pleased with this chapter, for a change, so let me know what you think. The line breaks will be replaced with actual lines just as soon as FFN decides to like me again. Anywho, I've got quite a lot of stuff to tell you. The first announcement is that I passed all of my A level exams and got into my top university! WOOHOO! Come the end of September, I shall be a student of Bangor University! **

**The next bit of information – I have been chosen to partake in the POL (Phansonline. net) Author Interviews! Which basically means you'll have a chance to ask me questions about writing, me, my opinions on life, my opinions on cheese… pretty much anything really! It's such an honour! If you would like to ask a question here are the rules:**

**No more than 2 questions (3 at a very big push). Try and make them individualistic. If there are lots of the same kind of question, they'll be smushed into one to save time. Do not send questions to me or post them in a review! My lovely Beta has been stuck with the task, so either PM them to her through FFN (TheAngelCried) or email them to her at phantasyfreeme (at) hotmail. com  Remove the spaces to get the right address. Mention a username, or if you wish to remain anonymous, mention that in the email/message. **

**You'll have until 31st August to get your questions in. So get thinking and have fun! **

**Love**

**Katie**


	13. Chapter 13

**Behind Closed Doors**

Christine paced her room, thinking out her very few options. The most obvious would be to risk her chances in the labyrinthine caves beneath the opera house. But she already knew the dangers of this – she could easily fall and break her neck, or more likely starve to death in the time it took her to find an exit. The catacombs spread for miles beneath the town. Her second choice was to try and find her mobile phone, if… _Erik_ still had it. On the other hand, what were her chances of getting a signal down here?

Her last option was to wait. Wait for him to make the first move. This was the least appealing of all of the plans, but the only practical one at this point in time. But that didn't mean that she had to wait for him to come up with a plan that might harm her.

She began to search the meagre items of the room for any kind of potential weapon. There was little at her disposal, and she started to search the bedroom, running over in his mind what he had told her.

After his announcement, they had watched each other for a few long, silent minutes. Christine didn't want to ask more questions than she had to. She doubted that he was a man of great patience. Eventually he had gestured to the room that she had woken up in, pointing with a single slender finger.

"That is your room. You are free to use it as you will. The rest of the rooms are also at your disposal, apart from that one." He had signalled to another door. "That is my private room. You will not enter it at any time. There is one other door that you may not use and you shall know it for it is locked."

"What am I supposed to do here?" Christine asked quietly. He did not reply. She wondered if this was because he had no answer, or because the answer was of so little consequence that he did not want to waste his seemingly precious time. After a few moments he had turned and sat once more at the organ, his pen scratching at the paper. She'd watched him for a short time and then returned to her room. Since then, she'd been contemplating her next move.

She moved to the door and listened. She couldn't hear anything and she wondered if he had gone out. Hesitantly, she opened the door, just a crack and looked out. As far as she could see, the room was empty. Christine moved forward and saw a note on the table, written in that painfully familiar handwriting.

_There is more food in the kitchen, if you are still hungry. I shall return in a few hours. It would be advisable to remember our discussion. _

_Erik._

She examined it, noticing the strange spelling of the name, the scrawling handwriting, the old-fashioned paper. She put the note down and looked around again. The organ was once again covered by the red curtain. She decided not to disturb it and began trying door handles, staying away from the one that he had indicated was his personal chamber.

The rest of the rooms seemed out of use. One was filled with books and papers; Christine picked up one of the volumes, but it was written in a foreign hand and she was unable to understand a word of it. Several of the manuscripts were sheet music but she ignored them, moving to the next room. This was the locked door that he had warned her about. She shook the handle but to no avail. Christine gave up and went to sit in front of the unlit fireplace, lifting her legs up to rest her chin on her knees as she thought through the situation.

She was miles underground, being held captive by a madman. She had no way of contacting Raoul or the police. Her watch was gone so she didn't even have an idea of how long she'd been there. And whilst he didn't seem intent on injuring her, she certainly couldn't be safe. She closed her eyes as tears pricked at them for the first time. Her arm still ached and the seriousness of her predicament was suddenly flooding her mind. Her heart felt strained with wishing that she was safely at home, that this was just a horrible a dream and that at any moment she'd wake up and find Raoul's sweet, kind, loving face beside her. The exhaustion that still plagued her after her unconsciousness finally caught up with her and she slipped into slumber.

* * *

When she awoke, she was back in her room. That is to say, the room that had been allocated to her by Erik. But there was something different about it, making Christine sit up and look around in surprise. Not only was the room clean, but it had undergone a complete makeover. The bed she was lying on was now made, with soft sheets and duvets. Candles were lit in glass holders around the walls and when she climbed out of bed, she found that the concrete floor had been laid with thick rugs. The writing desk was polished and a quick exploration of the drawers found it equipped with pens, paper and envelopes, although who he imagined she would write to, she had no idea. She pulled open the door to the wardrobe and stepped back in surprise.

There were clothes inside, all in her size. Jeans, skirts, trousers, suits, t-shirts, blouses, dresses, even underwear and shoes. This unnerved Christine slightly and she fidgeted inside her clothes, uneasy with the idea of him having chosen these for her. She closed the wardrobe carefully and looked around the room again. This all screamed 'permanency' to her; he was providing for a long stay.

This could not go on, she decided. She needed to discuss this with him, right now. She marched to the door and went into the main area of the… was house the right word? Erik was sat at the organ, writing music once again. He didn't even look up as she came in.

"We need to talk." Christine announced firmly, sounding thousand times braver than she felt. Erik duly ignored her. After a moment, she spoke again.

"Erik, please don't ignore me. You can't keep me here; people will notice that I'm gone. And from the way that you've arranged the room, I can tell that you expect me to stay here. I can't… I have the opera house to run; Raoul will wonder where I am."

There was no answer. Christine inhaled deeply.

"Please… let me go. I won't tell anyone where you are, who you are. Just let me go." She whispered. Finally Erik spoke, but he kept his back to her and continued with his work.

"I am unable to do that. I cannot know that you will not run to the police."

"How can I tell them where you are? I don't know even where this is! And besides, they'd think me mad, I couldn't possibly tell them!" She cried, moving forward but not daring to touch him. He glanced over his shoulder at her and then looked back to his work.

"No."

"You are a man, Erik. You don't have to act this way; you could let me go, you know you could." Christine pleaded, but he would not reply. She was completely within his power and they both knew it.

She stared at the back of his head, trying to think of some way for him to relent. Some small victory over him, that tiny spark of hope flickered in her mind. She licked her dry lips.

"Then… at least let me see the face of the man who is keeping me from my life." She said in a quiet, pained tone. The pen paused on the paper as Erik froze, the muscles in his back tightening visibly. This perked Christine's curiosity and he spoke.

"You shall never see my face, Mrs de Chagny."

"Why not?"

"Because you have lived a life as beautiful as yourself and to look upon my face is to destroy that beauty."

"If that is what you think of me, then you obviously don't know me as well as you think you do." She said coldly. He began to write again and she stood, watching him. After a moment, he spoke again.

"Let me assure you of something, Mrs de Chagny. As long as you are here, you are safe. You will remain safe, so long as you do not touch my mask."

This curious announcement forced Christine to drop the subject, for the time being. She moved forward and looked at the paper.

"What… what are you writing?"

"An opera, by the name of Don Juan Triumphant." He replied calmly.

"Will you play it for me?"

"No. Any other music that you choose, but you cannot hear this. You are not ready for music like this." Christine didn't reply and he began to play from Romeo and Juliet, an aria called _Je veux vivre_. Maybe he expected her to sing, maybe not. Christine knew the lyrics and began in a soft, rather quavering voice.

"_Je veux vivre _

_Dans le rêve qui m'enivre…_"

He began to play more powerfully, the notes of the organ resounding around the room. Christine felt her mind slipping away into the music and instantly recognised the danger of such an action. She could not afford to become lost now, whatever he might have said. She began to sing more strongly, wanting to fight for the music, to prove that this music belonged to her and not to him, that he could not use it against her, or imprison her in it.

He had lifted his masked face to the ceiling, as though the music were carrying him from the dirt and darkness of his home to the heavens, to a place more beautiful than this. Christine felt an overwhelming flood of emotions for this man, this creature.

_Who was he?_

She had to know. Had to know who he was, what he was, why he was. The music reached a crescendo and before Christine could prevent herself, she had reached over and lifted her fingers to the edge of the black mask. At the same moment that Erik realised what she was doing, the mask was pulled from his face.

The first thought that Christine had was how heavy the mask was, what a burden it must be to wear it all day as the warm fabric lay in her hands. But this fact was quickly erased from her mind as an unearthly cry escaped from the figure in front of her as he leapt to his feet. As he turned, Christine's fingers tightened painfully around the mask as her eyes widened at the sight of his face.

What happened next seemed to take minutes, hours, days but was in fact less than five seconds. The hideous image before her froze Christine to the spot as she gaped at the yellowing skin, blotched with brown, rotting marks. There was merely a collapsed flap of skin where his nose should have been, half-covering the hole beneath it. Inflamed red scars crisscrossed the neck and the left side of his face and his eyes… oh those eyes! They still glowed golden but she could see now how far they were sunken into the skull that biology demanded she call his face. The dark pupils blazed at her and Christine felt horribly sick. She stumbled back and he suddenly lunged towards her. She screamed and, mind reeling in horror and deadly fear, she ran for the arch that led to the catacombs. Logic pointed out that she would be lost in these caves, but the rest of her brain was crying that she'd rather be lost in a rock labyrinth than stay a moment longer in that monster's company.

She couldn't see where she was running and almost fell several times. Her sides felt as though a knife was twisting in them and tears were fuzzing her view. Eventually she glanced over her shoulder and saw, not too far away, the golden eyes, prowling towards her like some prowling predator. Christine took a step back and this turned out to be the worst thing she could have done, for she had unwittingly arrived at the edge of one of the canals that led to the underground lake. Arms flailing, she fell back, striking her head against a rock as she fell into the water.

It seemed as though she were underground for an age, before strong hands wrenched her from the water. Warm water ran down, stinging her eyes and trickling into her mouth, when she realised that it wasn't water, but her own blood. But this was the least of her concerns, for he was wrenching her back to the house. She presumed that she must have run in different directions, for they were much closer than she had thought. He threw her with inhuman strength to the ground and stood over her, his terrible face twisted into an expression of such anger that Christine closed her eyes tightly, waiting for the blow that must surely bring about her death.

No such blow came. After a tense moment, she opened her eyes, wincing as the blood ran into them again. He had not moved, but was merely staring down at her again. Christine shuffled away but this movement seemed to activate him, for he bent down and pulled her face towards his.

"Oh, no! You wanted to see and now you can. You were so hungry, so greedy for knowledge and now you can feast upon your discoveries! Look at my face, Christine de Chagny!" Christine tried to close her eyes but he shook her fiercely and she let out a sob, the gash on her skull throbbing painfully. He released her face and seized her hands, forcing them upon the dry skin. Her fingers fell upon every bone, felt every scar, her nails caught on the rotted lumps, tearing them from the skin until his blood ran down his hands.

And all the time he laughed, like a child playing a wonderful game.

"You see? You were hoping, perhaps, that there is another mask? No, Christine de Chagny, I am nothing but a skull; I am death!" He dropped her again and she fell to the floor, gasping for air as he straightened, plucking the mask from the ground, where she had dropped it. Drawn up to his full height over her, his eyes bore into her as he spoke again.

"You asked me to let you go yesterday, and I said no. Perhaps I might have done, in time, but now… oh, but now you have seen my face and now, Christine de Chagny, you belong to me." He said, his voice still as beautiful as it ever was, but filled with rage and something that seemed almost like sorrow. And with this declaration, he turned and went to the door that led to his room, leaving Christine to bleed and weep on the cold stone floor.

* * *

A masked face above hers… a cool hand on her cheek… a soft cloth tenderly dabbing her forehead… the scent of herbs and the warmth of clean water. These were the only things that Christine could remember of the new few… hours? Days? She couldn't have said, for time had no meaning in this underground world and she was hardly in a fit state to consider such a trivial matter anyway. Her body seemed to be terribly heavy and the pain in her arm and head were the only things that she was truly aware of.

She woke up. It was of no use to try and say when she woke up, but she did. Staring at the dark ceiling, she tried to think of what to do next. If only she hadn't taken his mask… if only she had been able to control herself – she might have been freed already. What could she do now, to make this better? Was there even a way?

She tried to stand and instantly felt like throwing up. Fortunately, she managed to restrain herself and pulled herself, staggeringly, to the door. As it opened, she saw Erik at the organ but he turned at the sound of the creaking door to look at her. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, trying to regain her steadiness. After a moment she walked slowly across the room the stand near the organ, but not too near. His eyes were on her the whole way, but he did not rise to help her, nor did she expect him to. Grasping the back of a chair, she looked at him, her eyes meeting his properly.

"Erik…"

"You should be resting." He said briefly, before turning back to the organ. She watched him and licked her dry lips as she prepared herself.

"What lies beneath your mask… does not, in any way, compare to the beauty of your music." She managed to say, her throat burning with dryness and her mouth sore. He paused for a moment and slowly turned his head to examine her. She met his gaze again before turning to make the seemingly endless journey back to her room. Erik didn't speak again, but she felt his gaze on her the whole way there, until she shut the door behind her.

She crawled back into bed and closed her eyes. Perhaps she fell asleep, but she couldn't have been sure. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes, Erik was stood beside her, filling a syringe with liquid from a bottle. She blinked up at him.

"What are you doing?"

"This will stop infection." He said quietly, swabbing her arm with a piece of cotton wool before piercing the skin with the needle. She winced at the sharp sting but he was soon holding a piece of cloth to the scratch to stop the bleeding.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. She nodded.

"Yes."

"There is food in the main room." She got to her feet and he guided her out to the table. Once she was sat with a plate of bread, chicken and salad, he went to the organ and began to play. The majestic sounds reverberated around the room as Christine ate the food hungrily, feeling as though she hadn't eaten in days.

"How long have I been down here?" She asked. He didn't look around but replied over the music.

"A few hours. Tell me, Mrs de Chagny, how did you come to stop singing?"

"Hours? But… I was sleeping for ages."

"You are unaccustomed to the passage of time here. I can assure you that it has only been a few hours since you have left the opera house." He said firmly.

She considered this as she answered his question.

"I stopped when my father died. I mean… I sang from time to time after that. But I never sang properly again."

"You sang upstairs, though." He commented. Christine bit into a piece of bread and washed it down with the water that had been provided, not knowing how to reply. The music came to a halt as he half-turned on the bench to look at her. Apparently an answer was expected of her.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because… because I wanted to hear the music." She whispered. His eyes narrowed.

"But you can play the piano. Why sing it?"

"Because it was made to be sung. That wasn't… piano music. It was made to be sung." She said, realising as she spoke that the words sounded ridiculous. However, he didn't comment on that. Instead he turned back to the organ and continued his playing. Christine drained the last of the water and picked up the used plate, intending to take it to the kitchen.

"Put it down." Erik said, without looking at her. She looked over at him, feeling unnerved that he was able to follow her actions even with his back turned. Her hands were almost trembling as she put the plate back onto the table.

Suddenly he stopped playing the tune he had been halfway through to start a simple scale. Christine stared at him. Surely he didn't expect her to sing… apparently he did, because he glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting cruelly. Christine didn't dare to move for nearly a whole minute but eventually brought herself to straighten up, lifting her chin and fixing her eyes on a dark stone in the wall. He played the scale again and she repeated it, pleased that at least her voice was steady, for the rest of her seemed to be shuddering. Still, her lack of practise showed all too clearly as her voice faded from the exertion after only a few scales. Erik looked at her and she put a hand to her forehead, a strange pounding suddenly flooding through her.

"I… I feel strange…" She managed to gasp before falling to her knees. Erik rose and walked to her.

"It's merely a reaction to the medicine. Keep singing."

"I _can't_!" She choked, her entire body throbbing painfully, white-hot liquid pumping through her veins.

"Sing." He ordered again, not attempting to help as she shuddered at his feet. Christine looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes. He was staring at her with such anger, such coldness and she knew what this was.

This was revenge.

The order to sing came again, from a far away place. It was distorted but it still came; Christine tried to beg for help but she couldn't. Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak. She was so detached from her body that she couldn't even hear herself singing. It was not her song – something had possessed her voice, had stolen it and she could hear it ringing around the room for a moment before everything vanished from sight and mind.

* * *

The floor was hard and cold. Her head was pounding and every joint in her body was aching. Slowly Christine opened her eyes. A black figure was knelt beside her, injecting something into her arm. She twitched back.

"No…"

"Stay still. You won't have that reaction again." His voice was so calm. After a moment a strange warmth began to seep through her and she struggled, managing to sit up. Erik was crouched beside her and looked her directly in the eye. There was a strange expression in his eyes and Christine didn't like it.

"What happened?" She asked weakly.

"It's quite normal when that drug is first administered. Your body was objecting to it, but now it knows what it is, it won't react like that again."

"Why didn't you help me?" She whispered. Erik stood and looked down at her.

"I needed you to sing first."

They stared at each other for a moment before he reached down and held out a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled but he steadied her and sat her in one of the high-backed chairs, handing her some water. She wanted to ask how long she had been lying on the floor for but her eyes were already slipping closed. She felt like she hadn't slept in days but she made herself look over at Erik. He was stood at the table, putting her glass down but seemed to sense her gaze on him, because his strange eyes met hers. There was an expression in those eyes but she couldn't tell what it was and even if she had wanted to know, exhaustion overcame her before she could try.

* * *

The minutes dragged unbearably. It seemed that every moment that she wasn't singing or being told to eat, the medicine he had given her took effect, causing her to pass out for what seemed like hours but Erik was always in the same place and so was she, so it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, minutes at most.

But with every passing minute, she found herself feeling inexplicably unwary. She knew that she should be hating this man, despising what he had done to her and trying to escape. But in truth he barely said a word to her, except to critique her singing. And that was improving constantly, she couldn't deny it. It was… impossible; inhuman. What should have taken days of work had taken a matter of a few hours. Even her injured arm was almost fully healed, not to mention the uncommonly quick healing of the wound on her head. But nothing was right in this place, nothing made sense and she could do nothing to get away.

"Erik?" She said softly, not even quite sure why. He looked up at her from his seat at the table whilst she ate. With those harsh, yellow eyes on her, Christine worked up the nerve to ask the nagging question.

"Why am I singing for you?" He merely looked at her before pushing the music away from him with one pale hand.

"You are wasting your voice. You don't seem to understand just what you could achieve with such an instrument." Christine's hand went unconsciously to her throat at hearing it described as an instrument, something beyond herself. "In short, Mrs de Chagny, you are singing for me because I am the only one who can adequately turn your voice into something magnificent." He lowered his head back to the music and was silent for a moment. Christine pushed the food around her plate, not hungry.

"You should be performing in the opera house, not managing it." He said quietly. Christine looked at him swiftly.

"I don't want to perform. I never have."

"Don't lie to me." He said calmly, laying down his pen and tucking the music into a folder. Christine frowned at him but didn't argue. Erik glanced at her full glass of water.

"You should drink that. Your throat needs it." She wasn't thirsty but he stood watching her until she reached for it and drained half of the liquid. A satisfied look shot through his strange eyes before he turned back to the organ. She went to stand at the side of the instrument, ready to sing but had only made a few bars before her head began to spin once again.

This time when she came around, he had put her in the comfy chair and was in the kitchen. She could hear water running. Christine struggled to her feet and reached for the fresh glass of water he must have put out for her. But her limbs were stiff and her fingers clumsily hit the glass, causing the water to slop over the side and run over the smooth wood towards the folder of music that Erik had left there earlier. Christine gasped and lunged painfully to rescue the paper, managing to snatch it away just as the water soaked into the corner. She opened the folder tentatively to make sure the ink hadn't run. Luckily it had only touched the edge of the parchment and the music was unharmed. Christine let out a sigh of relief and made to push the paper back into the folder but stopped to read the top line.

The music filled her almost instantly, as though it was playing in her mind and Christine knew that for her safety she should put the paper down and walk away. But that music was just so sweet… she just wanted to sing one more line, just hear one more bar, a single note even…

The piece ended and her voice faded away. She stared down at the paper, feeling an ache in her chest to hear it again but it mingled with a strange blissfulness, a peace that come from this music that was so unlike music that it could have been something else entirely.

"You can't deny this." His voice was so quiet that she almost didn't hear it. She turned to him slowly, a question written on her features. He answered, not moving from the kitchen doorway.

"You looked into my music, into myself and you wanted it, didn't you?" She didn't reply and he lifted his head slightly, not moving into the room but the action seemed to intensify his presence anyway. "You have seen what music is and now you cannot live without it. No matter what you say, what your minds insists, your soul belongs to me, to my music."

"Stop it…" Christine tried to say the words firmly but tears of humiliation and pain were pricking at her eyes, the truth stinging more than any of her injuries. Erik stepped into the room and moved towards her. His ice-cold fingers wrapped around her hand as he lifted the music up.

"Sing it again, Christine. Sing for me."

And she did. Without hesitation, she began to sing again and did not stop until he took the music gently, so very gently, from her hands. The intoxication of the music lingered as he put the paper away and stood, looking down at her.

"Do you want the music, Christine?"

"…I…"

"Admit it. Tell me that you need the music." He said softly. Christine lifted her face to meet his pale eyes and nodded slowly. He examined her closely for a moment before turning away.

"Go and sleep. You're tired."

* * *

It was the strange, unfamiliar movement that woke her. Christine frowned and opened one eye before sitting bolt upright. Erik was carrying her along an unlit street. As soon as he saw her wake up, he lowered her to a standing position. She took a step away from him, blinking at her surroundings and not fully taking in what was going on.

"Where…?"

He merely motioned to the end of the street. Christine walked slowly beside him as they emerged onto a main road. But… she knew this road; she knew that if she walked along this road for about ten minutes and turned left, it would lead her onto to the street that led to her home. Quickly she spun around to look at Erik. He was stood in the shadows of a nearby house, avoiding the light of the streetlamp.

"I don't understand."

"You will come back. You have been gone for just one night and one day. On Monday morning you will return to the opera house and continue your lessons."

"Yes."

"Do not fail to come."

"No." She said obediently. He nodded and finally turned to look at her, pressing her keys into her hand. He lifted his hand as though to touch her face but then seemed to change his mind, for his hand fell to his side and he turned to walk away.

She didn't wait to see him leave. Instead she began to run down the road as fast as she could, her legs stiff and sore, but she continued to run in spite of the pain. It was a beautiful cloudless night and Christine drew in deep breaths of the deliciously cool air as she reached the end of the road. Several cars passed by and one beeped at her but she ignored it, hurrying towards the wrought iron gates. There were lights on in the house and Christine's face broke into a smile for what felt like the first time in months as she tugged open the gate. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stumbled towards the front door, squeezing the keys so hard that it left purple dents in her flesh.

It took her several moments to slide the key in the lock, because her hands were shaking so hard. But eventually the door swung open and she fell through into the warm, bright, loving interior of her home. There was no one to be seen but she heard someone walking around the living room.

_Please let it be Raoul, please let it be him, please, Raoul, please, please…_

Christine pushed the door open quietly and slipped into the room. Sure enough, it was him, walking around the room, a cup of tea abandoned on the coffee table and the fire dying in the grate. He didn't hear her come in and in the moment that she had, Christine was able to take in his mussed hair, his shirt with the top button undone, his pale and tired face.

Then he saw her. And for the briefest of moments his face seemed drawn and hideously pallid as he took her in, not daring to believe that it was really her. Christine bit her lip and stepped forward but had barely made it more than a few paces before he'd rushed at her and was holding her so tightly it hurt. His hands ran over her arms, her waist, her hair and once he'd reassured himself of those things were real, his mouth found hers and Christine felt tears on her cheeks but didn't know if they were hers or his for both were crying as they clung to each other.

"Raoul…" She broke the kiss to look at him again and he pressed her hands to his face, his handsome face stained with tears and such a terrible fear in his blue eyes.

"You're here… God, you're really here…" His voice died away and she kissed him again.

"I'm sorry, Raoul, I'm so sorry…"

"We… I thought you were… I didn't know…"

"I'm back now, I'm here. Raoul, I didn't mean to go, I swear…"

She licked her lips and asked the question that had been tugging at her mind ever since he'd pulled her into his arms, since his tears had fallen on her cheeks.

"Raoul… how long have I been gone?" If it occurred to her husband that this was a peculiar thing to ask, he didn't show it. Instead he pressed his forehead to hers and she shut her eyes so tightly that a rush of tears were squeezed onto her face.

"Two weeks, Christine… _two weeks_."

**AN: Well, check this out! I'm still alive! I know it's been forever, but my beta and I have both been super busy with school stuff, amongst other things. Plus this was an insanely difficult chapter to work through – I've never written a Leroux capture before, or a non-Gerard deformity. I hope it appeases. I'll try and not wait 4 months before updating again. But life is crazy – university is not all I hoped it would be and I may not even be here for much longer. It's all up in the air at the moment. But it's a long boring story, that you really don't want to hear about, so just leave a review and I'll try and update soon!**

**Love and kisses to my darling beta.**

**Katie**


	14. Chapter 14

**Behind Closed Doors**

Every feeling drained from Christine as her senses failed to register the impossible fact that Raoul had just told her. She clutched at his arms, nails digging in but he didn't flinch.

"No… no, that's not… it's impossible!"

"Christine-"

"A night! It was…was only…" Her legs gave way and Raoul helped her into a chair, not very efficiently as he was shaking almost as much as she was and both were still shaking from the intense crying. He knelt in front of her as she breathed heavily, his hands wrapped tightly around hers as though he couldn't bear to let go even for a moment. But reason finally seemed to be taking over and he asked, "Christine, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, I just… I didn't know. Raoul, I didn't _know_!" Her voice broke and she fell forward to the floor beside him, clinging to him as she began to sob. "I didn't know it had been so long! I didn't mean to… I wanted to come home but I _couldn't_…"

"Christine, listen to me." He looked her in the face, still holding her hands. "I'm going to call one of the servants and tell them to wake Phil."

"Phil is here?" He didn't reply, finally letting go of her hands to ring the servant bell. There was usually one awake at this time anyway.

Christine closed her eyes, the blood pounding in her brain as she finally understood what Raoul had told her. Two weeks… she had been gone for two weeks. People wouldn't have known where she was for that whole time, people would gave been looking for her.

Erik had lied to her.

She started as the door opened and there came a loud gasp as one of the servants, Tara, saw her. Christine lowered her face into her hands, not wanting to look at her, not wanting to see anyone. Everything seemed out of shape and she couldn't hear, as though she were submerged in water. Someone was speaking to her and it took all her effort to lift her head.

Time had passed and she found herself staring in Raoul's frantic face. He put his hand to her cheek.

"Christine?" She blinked slowly and swallowed, painfully because of the lump in her throat. It was only then that she noticed Philippe standing nearby, clad in a dressing gown and worryingly pale.

"Raoul, we need to call the police." He said quietly. Christine shook her head slowly.

"No…"

"We have to let them know you're safe." Phil said, moving to put a hand on her shoulder. Christine didn't move. She felt slow and clumsy and far too tired to resist. The temporary adrenaline rush that had sent her running along the road had drained and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on this floor and sleep deeply for days, weeks. But the police were summoned and soon more servants were awakened to provide refreshments and all the while Christine sat silently on her chair as the police asked Raoul when she had arrived, what state she had been in. A blanket was draped around her shoulders and a cup of tea placed in her hands that she did not drink. Eventually a chair was drawn up next to hers and a female officer with an earnest and friendly face sat down.

"Mrs de Chagny? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you." Christine said quietly.

"Would you like to tell us where you've been?"

Christine looked up. They were all watching her, curious but anxious. Raoul took her hand in his, as though offering himself as support. She took a deep breath.

"I…" What could she _possibly_ say? That the Phantom of the Opera had taken her prisoner, drugged her and all because of music? They'd think she was insane. After a moment she shook her head.

"Please… I just want to sleep."

"Mrs de Chagny, do you realise that you've been missing for two weeks?" The female officer said calmly and slowly, as though speaking to someone who wasn't quite all there.

Christine rubbed her eyes and looked desperately at Raoul. But he was staring at her in realisation, looking almost panicked.

"No… she didn't."

"What?" Phil said, looking at him. Raoul squeezed Christine's hand nervously.

"When you came in you asked how long you'd been gone. And when I told you, you were horrified. Christine, you didn't know you'd been gone for that long, did you?" They all looked at her again and she licked her dry lips, feeling herself tremble.

"I don't know… God, can't they just go? Raoul, make them go." She bowed her head, letting her hair cover her face as tears threatened her already sore eyes. Raoul spoke quickly to Phil.

"She's exhausted, she needs to rest. Could you possibly come back in the morning? We'll need to call the doctor anyway…"

"What? Why?" Christine's head jerked up again at this. "Why is the doctor…?"

"I just want to make sure that you're alright." He said soothingly, but she would not allow herself to be soothed.

"Raoul, please. I'm… I just need to sleep. I just need to be at home and have everything the way it should be."

They were all silent for a moment and then the female officer put on her hat, looking rather dissatisfied.

"We'll come back tomorrow."

"Thank you." Phil started to usher them all out, including the crowd of curious servants that had gathered. Christine put the tea on a nearby table and stood, the blanket falling onto the chair and she pushed her hair back. It felt greasy and her clothes were horribly uncomfortable, a fact that she had failed to notice. Raoul and Phil watched her anxiously as she turned to look at them. She tried to smile but it felt strange and foreign, as though her muscles weren't used to such an action. Phil cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well… I think we should go and get some sleep. It's going to be a tough day tomorrow." Raoul nodded and held out a hand to Christine. She took it and they all ascended the stairs.

Their room looked as it always had, as though she had only been gone for a few hours. She washed her face and changed into a soft nightdress. Raoul had already changed and was putting on the small lamp by the table when she came out of the bathroom. They looked at each other for a moment and Christine felt tears prick her eyes yet again as a sudden rush of love flooded through her. Raoul climbed into bed and she went to get in as well, but paused at the sight of the open window, the fluttering curtains that had brought about her absence all that time ago. Without a moment of hesitation, she pulled the window shut.

* * *

The police interrogation did not go well. Christine knew that it would be simplest to just tell them about Erik and be done. But for some reason she couldn't say anything about him. She didn't want to tell anyone what he had done, about his face, about his music…

Raoul sat with her in the study as the police waited for her to reply, prompting with questions. The doctor stood nearby, watching her with a vague frown etched onto his brow. Eventually the questioning officer sat back in his chair, clearly exasperated.

"Mrs de Chagny, you have to understand that we're only trying to help you."

"Christine, please… why can't you tell me?" Raoul asked, trying to keep the hurt tone from his voice. "If someone's hurt you, then we have to find them."

"No one hurt me."

"Mrs de Chagny, did someone attack you? Force you to go away with them?"

"No…"

She straightened and finally gave the poor excuse that she had managed to think up.

"I… I went to the sea."

"The sea?"

"To your father's house?" Raoul said, understanding immediately. Christine nodded slowly and put a hand to her forehead.

"I think I was ill. I just… I can't remember any of it. I remember going to the coast and going to the house. But I can't remember being there or anything that happened there. I just remember going to sleep and waking up the next day. Or at least I thought it was the next day. But…"

"You can't have just slept for two solid weeks." The officer said incredulously. The doctor, a grey-haired man by the name of Gregson, cleared his throat.

"Mrs de Chagny, I understand that you were under a great deal of stress prior to your disappearance."

"Yes."

"It's the anniversary of her father's death in a couple of weeks. And you were so troubled by work, with that ridiculous opera ghost nonsense." Raoul agreed. Christine stiffened at the mention of the ghost, but no one noticed. They were all listening to Doctor Gregson.

"It seems feasible that what Mrs de Chagny actually suffered was similar to a minor breakdown. All the stress that she was suffering from, most likely based upon the anniversary, it could be that it just got too much. As a result she takes herself off to a familiar place and her body shuts down to recover. It's rare, but not unheard of. It usually would only last for a day or two." He said, fingers unconsciously pulling on his short beard. Christine watched him, listening to this explanation.

"In fact." He continued, "I haven't seen a subject that carried on for two weeks in any medical journals. Perhaps, with your permission, I may-"

"My wife is not some guinea pig that you can make a name for yourself with!" Raoul snapped. Dr Gregson flushed and murmured an apology.

She despised the way they were discussing her as though she weren't there. She moved her eyes to the window. It was sunny outside, a beautiful Saturday morning. But at least it was over now. The police seemed perfectly happy with this explanation, but the doctor was speaking to her.

"I would like to recommend some counselling. Just to prevent this happening again. Maybe some medical attention would-"

"No." Christine said flatly. Raoul sighed.

"Maybe it would be best…"

"Raoul, no. Please, I just want everything to go back to normal." She said pleadingly. Raoul examined her face for a moment and then nodded. Doctor Gregson held his hands as though to suggest that this went against his better judgement. They all began to depart, Raoul acting as the usual gracious host until they had left, and then turned to her.

For a moment they stood in awkward silence, something that hadn't happened to them since… well, it had never happened. Then Raoul crossed to her and pulled her into his arms. Christine closed her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in the scent of his light cologne and the faintest hint of soap. It was familiar and comforting.

"You weren't at the sea, were you?" He said quietly. Christine looked up quickly but he kissed her forehead.

"You're home now. It doesn't matter where you were. You're with me now."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day at home. Phil had gone to the opera house to let everyone know that she had returned safely, leaving Christine and Raoul to talk about what had happened in her absence, although not much talking actually took place. Instead they walked the sunlit grounds in silence, sat in the living room watching films and retired to bed early. It was as if they both knew that this sweet calm could not last and they had to make the most of it. They made love that night and Christine had never felt more at peace with the world as she and Raoul clung to each other, kissing, stroking and whispering words of love.

And as she lay with him, head on his chest as he slept, she felt a strange longing within her soul to hear music.

At breakfast on Sunday morning, Phil joined Christine and Raoul at the table bearing a newspaper.

"Well, there you go. Give it a week and everyone will have forgotten all about it." He said, putting the paper down. Christine saw her own face looking back, a picture of her that Raoul had taken at the villa in Greece two years previously. The headline announced that she had been found safe and sound. Raoul glanced over the article.

"Disappeared two weeks ago… returned home on Friday night, thank the public for their concern… well handled, Phil."

"I do my best." His brother said dryly, reaching for a piece of toast. Christine smiled and sipped her tea. Phil looked across at her.

"So… what are you going to do now?"

"I was thinking of having some eggs." She said lightly and then sighed at their expressions. "I know what you mean. As I said, I just want things to get back to normal. I'll go back to work on Monday."

"Are you sure that's what you want to do? Because Raoul and I were discussing the possibility of you both coming to America for a while."

Christine shook her head, putting her teacup back into its saucer. A little of the liquid spilled over and she mopped it with a serviette.

"If we go I'll just end up restless and nervous about going back. The sooner I get busy, the better. Are you going back to America soon?"

"On Tuesday. I was supposed to be back a while ago, but what with…" Phil cleared his throat nervously, "With things being as they were, I stayed."

"Well, there you go. Everyone can just get on with what they should be doing." Christine said firmly. Raoul and Phil exchanged worried glances and she sighed heavily.

"What?"

"Christine, you just had a nervous breakdown. You should… rest. You need to recover." Raoul said seriously. She looked at him and shook her head slightly.

"If I rest… I'll start thinking about everything. About my father. _Romeo and Juliet_ only has two weeks left on its run; we're going to be starting a new opera soon. We're going to be so busy."

Raoul gave a small smile and shook his head in despair.

"We may as well give up now, Phil. I've seen what she's like when she gets like this."

"Maybe it's best. But if you feel like things are getting too much for you…"

"I'll take it easy." Christine said firmly.

* * *

Monday morning arrived and brought heavy rain with it. Raoul insisted on driving Christine to the opera house, checking and double-checking that she had everything she needed.

"I'll have my phone with me all day and I'll pick you up at five thirty." He said as he pulled up to the main doors. Christine smiled and leaned over to kiss him.

"Raoul, I'll be fine."

"I love you." He said pulling her into an hug, reluctant to let her go. She kissed him again and picked up her bag.

"I love you too."

She ran lightly up the front steps to the doors and waved as the car drove off before pushing open the heavy glass door. There were sounds of a rehearsal coming from the main hall but Christine went straight to her office to take off her wet coat. Her office was as she had left it, apparently only opened for cleaning. She put her bag on the desk and hung her coat, droplets of water falling from it as she went to the rehearsal.

From the air vent, Erik smiled.

* * *

Moncharmin and Richard were nothing short of ecstatic to see. Christine was vaguely amused as she imagined the pair coping with the opera for two whole weeks. After assuring them that she was fine, she sat in the back row to watch the rehearsal. It seemed to be going well, although Christine began to notice slight errors, a missed step, a flawed note – things that she would never have noticed before. Again, she felt a tug at her heart as she remembered the hauntingly beautiful music that had possessed her soul for the past two weeks.

As the performers dispersed, Christine stood and went into the lobby, feeling uneasy. She wanted to hear the music again. He would contact her soon, there was no doubt about that. But could she live these two lives? Could she behave as she always had done with Raoul and still be able to hear the music?

She jumped what felt like six feet into the air as someone screamed behind her. Christine whipped around to see Meg Giry rushing towards her. The ballerina threw her arms around Christine in a hug, realised what she was doing and jumped back, only to grasp Christine's hands.

"Mrs de Chagny, you're back! Oh my god, I was so scared! Are you OK? Shouldn't you be resting?" Cecile joined them and grinned brightly. Christine smiled weakly at them both.

"I'm fine, Meg. Well, apart from the heart attack you gave me just now…"

"We were so worried when we heard that you'd gone missing. What happened?" Meg said, concern etched in her face. Christine was surprised, she hadn't thought that they were that close. But Meg had clearly been frantic about her disappearance.

"I… well, the doctor thinks I had something like a nervous breakdown. I honestly don't remember what happened."

"I'm just so glad that you're back!" Meg grinned and then hugged her again. Christine hesitantly returned the gesture, touched by her concern.

It quickly spread that their manageress was back and Christine got very little work done as people came to her office to say how glad they were to see her or ask why she had vanished or simply through sheer curiosity. As a result there was constantly someone in the room and it wasn't until around four that afternoon that Christine tried to get some proper work done. Richard had left a file with information for her to catch up on but Christine found several references that she didn't understand. She stood and went to the filing cabinet, trying to find out what it was exactly that Yvonne Dutchman had mentioned at the meeting of the previous Friday. As Christine flicked through the files in the top drawer, she felt a sudden chill in the room, as though she had left the window open. But she hadn't, and she knew that she hadn't.

She raised her eyes to the wall in front of her and saw the shadow of the man stood directly behind her. Without meaning to she squeezed her eyes shut and heard a soft chuckle, his mouth close to her ear as he spoke.

"Why so frightened, Christine?" She turned around and met his eyes, determined not to be afraid, determined not to think of what lay under that mask. He smirked as she stood tall and said,

"I'm pleased to see that you can follow directions so well."

"Why are you here?" Christine asked coldly, pleased that her voice wasn't shaking. Erik stepped away, walking the length of the office.

"To make arrangements regarding the new opera. I understand that you were planning on suggesting Rameau's _Platée_, but I believe _The Magic Flute_ would be better suited. I did consider _Otello_, but two Shakespearian tragedies in a row might suggest staleness…" He stopped by her desk as Christine slid the drawer of the filing cabinet shut.

They stood watching each other for a moment, as though sizing the other up as a threat and daring the other to speak first. It was Christine who eventually broke the silence.

"You lied to me."

"Yes." He said simply, clearly not perturbed by the fact. Christine swallowed hard and licked her dry lips before speaking again.

"What do you want? We haven't decided on an opera yet and…" He was chuckling again, clearly entertained by her attempt at casualness, "Stop laughing at me, Erik! You lied to me!"

"Of course I did. How could you have been properly trained if you were too busy pining for that boy?"

"Leave Raoul out of this. I want you to get out. I don't want to sing anymore and I… I just want my life back."

"Why?"

The question was a surprise and Christine had to think about it for a moment.

"Because it's safe. My life was safe and warm and I knew it well. And then you arrived and you brought death and danger with you. I don't want any part of it, I just want you to leave."

"So you don't want the music?" Erik said, drawing a large envelope from his jacket. Christine felt her heart leap and for a moment she could have sworn that Erik had heard the skip as the smirk had returned. He laid the envelope onto her desk, not taking his eyes from hers. Christine chewed her lip and then picked up a piece of paper from the desk and turned back to the filing cabinet, trying to ignore him. But with inhuman speed he had crossed and slammed his hands on the wall on either side of her so that she was trapped with her back to him. A shiver ran down her spine as she stared at the blank wall, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up as he spoke softly with that beautiful voice.

"The music is on your desk. If you look at it, if you open that envelope… you belong to me."

"Erik, no…"

"You told me that you wanted the music. That is why I let you go." He hissed. "If you deny this now, then _accidents will happen_. You will sing for me, Christine. You will sing."

There was a knock at the door and Christine spun around in time to see a flicker of black leather disappearing into the air vent. She took a moment to compose herself before calling for them to come in. It was Mrs Giry. The older woman smiled but then paused.

"Is everything alright, Mrs de Chagny? You look very pale."

"Oh… yes. I'm fine. I could do with a cup of tea." Christine said light-heartedly. Mrs Giry smiled and moved into the room, closing the door behind her.

"I just wanted to ask about the next opera. I know you haven't yet chosen, but I'd like to organise extra rehearsals for the girls and…" Her voice died away as she saw the envelope on the desk. Christine watched, puzzled as she read the handwriting and looked sharply at her. The two women stared at each other for a minute and then Giry cleared her throat. Christine glanced briefly at the air vent, praying that Erik wasn't watching this. Giry noticed her action and followed her gaze before looking back to Christine and frowning, eyes flicking uncertainly towards the envelope. Eventually Christine spoke.

"I haven't yet decided on a new opera. I'll let you know, but it might be… _The Magic Flute_."

"I see. Well, I won't keep you any longer." Mrs Giry said and went to the door, pausing to look back as though wanting to say something but not daring to.

Christine went to sit at her desk and picked up the envelope, remembering how she had once suspected Giry of being the ghost. Obviously she knew that she wasn't now; but Giry knew something. She had delivered that letter from Erik and had been notably unsettled at the sight of this envelope. What was going _on_ in this opera house?

She ran her fingers over the seal of the envelope, fighting with her self to open it. God, she wanted to hear that music! She wanted to sing those notes that had been written just for her, just to bring her to the point of ecstasy and still offer incredible temptation. She could already hear it, flooding her mind and drowning her senses until she was hardly in the office at all.

* * *

A hand was shaking her arm and Raoul's voice was speaking her ear, saying her name softly. Christine opened her eyes and looked up at him sleepily, still lost in her warm, comfortable dream-state. He smiled gently.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty."

"What time is it?"

"Only just five thirty. I got away a little early. If you were this tired you should have just gone home to sleep."

"I wasn't tired." Christine said, pushing herself up from the desk and leaning back in her chair. "I don't even remember going to sleep." Raoul smiled and took her coat.

"Come on. Let's get you home. We're having beef tonight, Phil's favourite since he's leaving tomorrow."

"It sounds delicious." Christine said, her stomach aching at the thought of the no-doubt delicious meal. She picked up her bag and then stopped short as she caught sight of the open envelope on her desk. She hadn't opened it, had she? No! She had been holding it and thinking about the music and she had _heard_ the music…

Because Erik had been playing it to her.

Her chest tightened as she realised what had happened. He had fooled her again. She had read the music and had been drawn in by it. Unless…

"Did you open this?" She asked, in what she hoped was a casual voice. Raoul who was by the door, looked over.

"No. Don't worry, I know better than to touch things on your desk!" She didn't reply and he frowned. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine." She said shortly. She picked up the envelope and turned on the electric shedder on the floor. The envelope ground noisily as she slipped it into the machine, tearing the music into tiny squares. Raoul watched silently but she smiled comfortingly at him.

"Let's go. I'm starving."

**A/N: Man, I am so in love with Raoul. I think I'm an R/C shipper now... when did THAT happen?!**

**Well, hello there. No, I'm not dead! I realise it's been over a year since my last update, but there is very good reasons for this. Long story short – I dropped out of uni, spent 15 months working at a DIY store, reapplied for a different university and am starting a primary education course in a month's time. So it's been fairly hectic and has left me with a deep hatred for all things DIY. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. My darling beta and I have unfortunately parted ways due to various commitments, so I'll be hunting for a beta soon. In the mean time, please forgive in glaring errors. I hope the updates will be more regular from now on, but obviously with my courses starting I can't guarantee it. **

**Love**

**Katie**


	15. Chapter 15

**Behind Closed Doors**

It had been over a week since Erik's last appearance and Christine was nervous. This anxiety had not gone unnoticed and her agitation was making Raoul uneasy. Most of the time she seemed fine, her old self – sweet, calm and even teasing at points, but there were odd moments when she thought no one was watching when she bowed her head and a look of intense disquiet clouded her features. But whenever anyone asked what was wrong she banished the emotions and made up an excuse.

"Christine, I think you need a break." He said one evening as she examined sets and costume designs for the upcoming rehearsals of _The Magic Flute_. She met his eyes and smiled at him from her seat in the sitting room.

"A break? You think I have time for one?"

"No, but you should have one anyway."

"You're very optimistic, my darling." She replied, looking back down at the papers. Raoul slid out of his chair and knelt in front of her, removing the work from her hands. She tutted at him but he clasped her hands and put on a very serious expression.

"This is an intervention. You are going to stop working so I can be romantic."

"Couldn't you be romantic when I've finished?" Christine asked in a mock-serious tone. Raoul pretended to be affronted.

"Well, if you're going to be like that…" He stood but Christine didn't let go of his hands.

"I love it when you're romantic, Raoul. I just need to get this done so I can fully appreciate the romanticism."

He laughed and crouched again.

"Very well. I'll think of the most romantic thing in the world and plan it for this weekend." He said, kissing her forehead. Christine smiled.

"That sounds perfect. But for now…" She reached for the papers again and Raoul returned to his seat, answering the phone as it began to ring.

"Hello? Yes, she's here, but she's not very talkative or romantic." He said, looking at his wife slyly. She pulled a face at him. "Very well, I'll let her know. Goodbye." He hung up and reached for his newspaper.

Christine stared at him for a moment and after pretending to read a few lines he met her eyes.

"Yes, dear?"

"Who was on the phone?"

"Oh, that. That was my brother." He returned to his paper and Christine smiled at his childishness.

"What did Phil want?"

"To let you know that you the building plans are prepared and he'll fax them to the office for you. What building plans?" He asked, laying down the newspaper again. Christine sighed.

"It's some idea of Phil's. You know how the river runs underneath the opera house, through the cellars? Well, he wants to convert it into some little tourist exhibition. He thinks the cellars and river would make a lovely bar or café area, where he can show some local artists work. It's a good idea; I just don't think it'll work."

"Why ever not?"

"Because the renovations would cost a fortune and we'd have to close down the opera house for at least two months. But I'll reserve judgement for when I've seen the plans." She looked back down to her work and started to write notes beside a set diagram. Raoul watched her for a moment and then turned his gaze back to the headlines, but he wasn't even reading it.

* * *

There was another envelope on Christine's desk the next morning. She stared at it when she entered her office, as though it was a ticking bomb, but after a moment she continued to hang up her coat and sat at her desk. The envelope sat innocently in front of her. It wasn't big enough to contain any sheet music and for this Christine was thankful. She opened it and slipped the paper out, dreading what the sprawling writing would say.

_Dear Christine,_ (She wondered at the informality of this opening)

_It can not have failed to capture your attention that I have been lax in my contact this week. Be assured that our arrangement has not slipped my mind and I shall soon make my presence known so that your singing lessons may continue._

_ It has come to my attention that your tedious brother-in-law has made plans for the cellars below the Opera House. It would be in his best interests if you thwart these arrangements – ghosts do not take kindly to unwelcome visitors in their domain. _

_ I expect you to practice your singing in the mean time._

_ Erik_

Christine glanced at the fax machine. Instead of lying in the tray, the plans that Phil had sent were sat in a tidy pile on top of it. She crossed to pick them up. As far as she could see, they were well thought out and rather interesting in design, incorporating the edge of the river into the layout. There were several layers of cellars. One or two were inaccessible and the company used to the topmost one to store props. However Erik's wording sent Christine's mind racing – his domain… did this mean that the two weeks she had been his prisoner, she had been in the opera house the whole time? She'd suspected that they had not been far from it, in the labyrinth of tunnels that sprawled beneath it, reaching into the surrounding city, but actually _within_ the opera house?

She pushed the letter back into the envelope and dropped it into a drawer, hoping that the old phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' would apply long enough for her to get some work done. The morning was spent on monotonous paperwork and phone calls, and it was only when her clock struck twelve that she laid her pen to rest and went to watch the rehearsals for _The Magic Flute_. _Romeo and Juliet_ had only a few more days left before the opera house took a fortnight rest to prepare for the new show and allow a few renovations to the buildings.

She slipped into the main theatre and watched as Carlotta finished her aria. _Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden_. Christine had always admired Carlotta's voice but now the soprano's tone seemed to hit notes that Christine knew were almost, but only almost, perfect. She frowned and scratched her cheek as the rehearsal came to an end and everyone dispersed for lunch. Christine wandered down to Reyer as he shuffled his sheet music. He smiled at her, looking pleased that she had witnessed the near perfect end to the rehearsal.

"What do you think?"

"It's going very well. I just…" She hesitated before asking quietly, "Has Carlotta been practicing regularly? I couldn't help but notice that she doesn't seem to be hitting the mark as well as usual."

Reyer watched her for a moment, wondering where this was going but apparently the manager had nothing more to say for she merely shook her head and smiled at him before heading back up to the back of the hall.

* * *

It was Thursday evening before Christine worked up the courage to enter the practice room and sit before the piano. She took no sheet music and didn't dare sing, playing out simple one-handed tunes on the piano and wondering, or maybe hoping, that a voice would speak. After a few moments of silence, she began to hum absently as she played, but stopped sharply as a cool breeze hit the back of her neck and she head the soft _thump_ of shoes hitting the carpeted floor. She stood and turned to face Erik.

He was holding several pieces of sheet music and he laid them on her vacated stool before meeting her eyes. For a few moments neither of them spoke, but eventually Christine forced herself to talk.

"What do you hope to achieve by making me sing?" Erik considered her for a moment and then moved to stand by the wall beneath the air vent. Christine almost flinched away as he passed.

"It is not my intention to train you for no reason, Christine. One day soon, you shall take to the stage." He said calmly, facing her. She let out a breath and shook her head.

"No. I can't."

"You can and you will." He said decisively. A flash of irritation went through Christine and she folded her arms.

"What can you do if I refuse? You can't force someone to sing."

She saw him sneer through the mask, his lip curling and the irritation was replaced by dread at his reply.

"So long as you continue to attend these lessons and aim to achieve status on the stage, you can rest easy knowing that your boy will come to no harm." He spoke as though it was the most insignificant thing in the world. Christine's arms fell to her sides as she stepped forward in anger.

"Are you threatening my husband?"

"That is precisely what I am doing. As long as you are obedient to me, you have no reason to fear for his safety. It is most generous of me, considering what you will receive in return."

"Generous…?"

"Yes." He paced across the room again. "You will receive the finest tutelage you could ask for. You will become adored and known by the world. No one will ever doubt your talent." He almost spat the words but Christine's head was reeling at the thought of Raoul being in danger.

"If you hurt Raoul-"

"As I have already stated, his safety is in your hands." Erik stopped and folded his arms as he faced her, "So don't irritate me with further mention of him. You will meet me here three times a week, without exception. Make any excuse you must to get here, but if you do not come I shall come looking for you. If I find you idling, your husband will pay the price."

Once again they stared at each other, daring the other to back down. This time Erik did, although only because he had lost interest and was pulling a sheet of music from an inside pocket of his coat. He held it to her and she took it, almost snatching in her fury.

"Why does it matter so much to you that I do this?" She asked, setting it on the music stand as he seated himself at the piano. His eyes found hers and she almost regretted her forwardness. But he answered, with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

"I am unable to perform. Therefore I find it abominable that you should not."

She left it at that.

The lesson went poorly. Christine was so furious, not to mention frightened that her voice barely lasted beyond scales before it began to give way. Erik's temper flared quickly.

"You have not been practicing." He accused her after half an hour.

"Of course I haven't. I've been too busy trying to explain to the police why I'd been missing for two weeks, not to mention running an opera house!" She snapped back, tired and frustrated.

"I will not accept excuses. You are in no state to sing now. We will meet again on Monday evening and I expect you to be able to sing that aria from _The Magic Flute_."

He leapt with inhuman skill to the air vent and slipped away into the darkness. Christine stared at the spot where he had been before storming from the room.

* * *

Christine's foul mood lasted the rest of the evening. Raoul frowned as she snapped uncharacteristically down the phone to Moncharmin before collapsing into her chair in the sitting room.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Oh, just… everything!" She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Raoul couldn't help smiling; even in this state he found her beautiful. She eyed him curiously as she released her hair from the knot she had put it in for work.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, just… my gorgeous wife." He said, shrugging. She smiled, as he knew she would. "Besides, unless you cheer up, I shan't tell you about the wonderfully romantic plans I have for us, starting tomorrow after work."

Christine sat up, her curls tumbling around her face.

"You actually organised something?"

"Of course." He pretended to be affronted. "But if you're not up for it-" He was cut off by Christine launching herself towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she settled into his lap.

"Raoul, this is exactly what I needed to hear after today." She said into his neck. He smiled and his arms slipped around her waist, holding her tightly.

"How does a romantic weekend away in the countryside sound? I booked us a cottage in Kent, middle of nowhere, no telephones, just us."

"Sound likes heaven!" She smiled, kissing his cheek. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I really don't know." Raoul said, pretending to pick his newspaper and read it around her. Christine pushed it down, serious once more.

"You know that I love you." She said quietly, tightening her arms around him again. His eyes met hers and he kissed her by way of reply.

* * *

The relief that Christine felt at not seeing an envelope from Erik on her desk was overshadowed by the email from Phil wanting her opinion on the plans for the cellar. She hadn't had time to consider that problem yet. It was quite simple really – Erik did not want it to happen, so she had to find a way to stop it. But… the plans were excellent and well thought out. The bar would attract more customers, as would any exhibitions, the area could be rented out for private events – it was a wise investment. It was a frustrating situation, for whatever power Erik held over her voice, she was not willing to let him into her business or personal life.

She waited until a more reasonable time before calling Phil, making it 9 AM in New York to her 2 PM. He was delighted to get her call, and more than happy to discuss the plans for the cellar.

"It's such a wasted space, Christine. Think of the revenue we're missing out on."

"Those cellars are a death trap. If they pass an inspection by the health authorities, it'll be a miracle, and we'll have to shut down the rest of the Opera House to get the work done. I just don't think it's a good idea for the time being. Maybe in a couple of years." She fiddled with her pen, sensing his disappointment as she drew absentmindedly on the corner of a notepad. "Are you angry with me, Phil?"

"No, of course not. I understand your reasoning; it's just a bit of a blow. But if you promise to keep an open mind and consider it in a few years…"

She agreed to this and they spent a few minutes chatting about more frivolous things (his relationship with Sorelli, Raoul's weekend plans and Phil's upcoming fortieth birthday) before getting back to work. Christine was just replying to her more urgent emails when there came a knock at the door and Antoinette Giry entered. For a moment they looked at each other, each full of questions that they could not ask. Then Giry held out an envelope.

"I was asked… that is, this is for you."

It was from Erik, she recognised the handwriting. Christine took it, standing behind her desk but Giry did not release it straight away. She caught Christine's eyes and swallowed nervously.

"Mrs de Chagny…"

"No." Christine looked automatically at the air vent. "I know we can't… discuss our mutual acquaintance. I would not ask you to. It isn't…prudent." The relief on Giry's face was enough to prove that she too knew that Erik was not to be gossiped about.

"Will I often be receiving letters this way?" Christine asked. Giry sighed.

"I don't know. They come to me and I… deliver them. I don't know why he..." She stopped quickly and the left without another word. Christine understood. By referring to Erik as a 'he' the situation had gained a frightening reality. She sank into her leather chair and opened the envelope.

_Dear Christine,_

_ I offer my congratulations on your handling of the situation with your brother-in-law. It was no less than I should have expected of you. In regards to Antoinette Giry, I have given her instructions to deliver my letters from now, rather than leave them in your office where prying eyes may see them. She will be obedient, especially when her daughter's future is at stake. _

_ Our appointment on Monday shall take place in the third practice room at 5. Be punctual, it is vital that we are not interrupted._

_ Erik_

It seemed he would not be content until he was in control of the entire staff of the Opera House. Christine screwed the note up and threw it with all her might at the waste paper bin. It hit the edge and fell to the floor, just worsening her mood. She went back to her emails but her eye caught the fax that Phil had sent her of plans for the cellars.

And curiosity overwhelmed her.

* * *

It was Lucas, one of the stagehands who led her down into the first cellar. She peered around the dusty room by the poor light given by the bare bulb. Making her way down the rough stone steps in her heels, she looked for the door to the next cellar through the old screens and props.

"It's in the far corner, Mrs de Chagny, just pass the Hannibal elephant. There are no lights down there though, you'll need a torch." He handed her one and she smiled her thanks.

"You can go back up, Lucas. I'm only having a quick look."

"If you're sure…" Everyone was frantically preparing for the final week of _Romeo and Juliet_, as well as practises for _The Magic Flute_ and he couldn't afford to be away from his post. He disappeared up the steps and Christine picked her way to the heavy wooden door. A large spider ran frighteningly close to her foot and she jumped with a gasp of surprise, but it scuttled away and she made for the door more quickly.

The door was old and the hinges were laced with rust, betraying the age of the building. Christine had to push all of her body weight onto it and after several minutes of shoving it budged open far enough for her to squeeze through. She went down another set of steps and shone the torch around, illuminating the filthy room. There were a few props thrown carelessly against the floor, but the room seemed to be empty other than that. It smelt of damp, of moist bricks and decay, a smell that hit the back of her throat as soon as the door opened. Christine crossed the room to the next door, picking her way carefully through the dust until she was leaning once more against wood, trying not to choke on the dirt. However, the lock on this door was not rusty, but glinting in the torchlight.

Christine stared at the lock, her heart hammering like an agitated bird in a cage. Clutching the torch tightly in one hand, she reached for the handle and shook it, but it was firmly locked. With a deep breath, Christine knocked on the door. The knocks echoed loudly and she felt herself beginning to tremble in anticipation; would Erik be angry? Would he even know that she was here? Of course he would… he was terrifyingly aware of her every move, it seemed.

In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of a light and turned swiftly, wondering if Lucas had come after her. But her fluttering heart leapt into her mouth, blocking the scream that tried to escape.

A skull was burning in the corner of the room, jaw gaping hideously as the orange flames licked over the bone, eyes hollow and haunting. Christine felt her legs shake beneath her and she clutched at the damp bricks as the skull moved closer, no body apparent beneath it. The jaw creaked and a piercing, cackling laughter emanated from it.

Christine bolted, stumbling across the room, leaving dust clouds in her wake as she threw herself up the steps into the first cellar, slamming the door behind her with a gasping sob. This room seemed curiously calm, light although the only illumination came from the single exposed bulb. She ran her hands through her hair, taking deep breaths as she tried to rationalise what had happened but her mind was working in overdrive, running through the occurrence again and again.

"Mrs de Chagny? Are you still here?" Lucas' voice burst through her frantic thoughts, startling her. She swallowed hard, hoping she didn't look as terrible as she felt as she made her way to the steps. Lucas smiled.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked and she cast a glance nervously over her shoulder.

"I'm not sure." She murmured.

* * *

There was no contact from Erik on Friday, although Christine could not thoroughly relax, ever tense and ever expectant. She worked feverishly, mind focused on the journey she would be making that evening, the escape from the Opera House and Erik to the secluded cottage that Raoul had organised.

Sure enough, five o'clock arrived and there was a knock on the door. Raoul's bright head appeared, beaming at her.

"Ready to go?"

"Never readier." She smiled and then pulled him into the office, closing the door. He grinned and lowered his face to hers, kissing her sweetly. She smiled, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him closer.

"I don't think I've ever needed a break so badly." She murmured against his mouth and he chuckled, kissing her lips, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

"Then I suggest you say goodbye to your work and put this place out of your mind."

"Gladly." She smiled, turning to find her handbag.

A black-edged envelope was sat on the desk and had most certainly not been there when she'd risen to greet her husband. She stared at it with dread and Raoul touched her arm.

"Darling?"

"Go and start the car, I'll just shut down the computer and I'll be right out." She said with a reassuring smile. He kissed her again and disappeared. Christine closed the door firmly behind him before seizing the letter and tearing it open furiously.

_Dear Christine,_

_ Do not forget that your lesson is on Monday at six pm sharp. I suggest you take some time over the weekend to practice the aria, rather than idling the time away. _

_ Erik_

Fuming, Christine crumpled the note in her fist and dropped it into the bin, before picking up her handbag and leaving the office, locking the door behind her.

* * *

**A/N: So… it's been about 4 years since my last update. Bet you thought that this fic had been abandoned! I never intended for it to go this long without an update, I promise! But life happens. Let's see, in the last chapter I was about to start at university. I actually finished that three year course last June and have been working full time as a primary school teacher since September. I got very into Twilight fanfiction (you may have noticed!) so that distracted me from this. I also lost my dad twenty months ago, so took a 6 month break from writing anyway. **

**So… that's where I've been. I also use twitter now (username Kat097) so feel free to come and tweet with me! I can't guarantee an update schedule. The rest of the story is now planned out, so let's just see how it goes. That's if anyone is still reading this!**

**Love**

**Katie**


	16. Chapter 16

**Behind Closed Doors**

It was raining steadily when the car pulled up outside the little cottage, tucked away in the South Downs in Kent. Laughing loudly, Raoul and Christine ran to the front door, tumbling into the dark house, water soaking into their feet. Raoul dropped their bags and fumbled for a light switch, whilst Christine kicked off her shoes, wriggling her cold toes. The lights came on, illuminating the small room, charmingly decorated with rustic furniture and paintings, almost clichéd in its authenticity.

Raoul crossed to the fireplace and lit the log fire, swearing as he burnt his fingers on the match. Christine smiled, venturing into the kitchen to put on the kettle, carrying the two shopping bags filled with food. Whilst coffee brewed, Raoul put on the radio to some chattering local station and they talked and laughed as they made lasagne (Raoul's one and only speciality). It was comfortable and safe and Christine had never felt so in love with her husband as he sang tunelessly to the radio, pulling the cooking implements out of her hands to waltz her around the kitchen to some old song.

"What do you think? Is there a place for me in your newest production, with my fine dancing skills?" He joked, dipping her swiftly. She snorted with laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck as they straightened.

"Absolutely. You'll blow them away!" He grinned, pecking her on the cheek before turning to inspect their dinner. Christine returned to slicing bread, still grinning.

"Well, I might just audition – I'm sure Mrs Giry will be on my side. Hey, even the Phantom might put in a good word for me!"

A cold chill shot through Christine's spine and the bread knife slipped, slicing her finger. She gasped, dropping the blade and Raoul was instantly beside her, pressing a paper towel to the deep cut.

"Are you alright?"

"It's fine, I wasn't paying attention." Christine murmured, running her finger under the tap. The blood mingled with the water before disappearing down the drain. Raoul was bustling through the cupboards, emerging triumphantly with a first aid kit. He stuck a bandage over the cut and then lightly kissed the tip of her finger. Christine couldn't help smiling at him.

"Kiss it better?"

"Works every time." He said firmly, turning to slice the lasagne. Christine slid into one of the wooden chairs at the old table, the oak surface pitted with scratches and burn marks, where it had obviously been used for cooking and preparing food at some point. Raoul placed a plateful of food in front of her and they ate in near silence, both tired from the journey and the stress of the past week.

* * *

"Christine?" Raoul's voice broke through the tired fog that had clouded her mind as they settled onto the settee in the tiny living room. She blinked up at him.

"Hmm?"

"Is something…" He hesitated and then steeled himself, "Is something going on at the opera house?"

"What makes you think that?" She asked in a would-be casual voice, desperately praying for a change in conversation. He looked at her frankly.

"Sweetheart, how can I not think it? After everything that has happened… look, if it's really nothing you can just tell me to mind my own business and I'll forget all about it, but I'm worried about you. I'm afraid that…"

She stared at him, taking in his deep blue eyes, his disarray of blonde hair as he ran an agitated hand through it, the taut expression on his handsome face. After a moment he swallowed and when he spoke, his voice was constricted with emotion.

"I'm afraid that I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone again." He choked and his head dropped into his hands, as though the weight of his confession had crushed him. Christine bit back a choked sob and shuffled along the settee, half climbing into his lap. Instinctively his arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly that it hurt her ribs and she clung to him, pressing her face into his neck.

"Raoul, I will _never_ leave you. Never." She mumbled, squeezing her eyes closed, "I'm just nothing without you."

He didn't reply and she pulled her face back to look at his. He was watching her with the expression of a young child, vulnerable, easily crushed. She ran her slender hand down his cheek, the light stubble grazing her fingertips.

"I love you, Raoul." She murmured, "More than I can ever tell you. And there _are_ things happening at the moment that… that are difficult for me to talk about and once I understand what those things are, what it is that I can do about them, I promise I'll tell you everything."

His eyes searched hers and seemed to find the truth there, because he kissed her deeply, arms forming a cocoon around her that she wished could protect her from the darkness that was encroaching into their lives.

* * *

The conversation was pushed, somewhat forcibly, out of their minds as they endeavoured to enjoy their weekend. They took a long walk along the downs, drove to Ramsgate on the coast and toyed with the idea of paddling in the icy water, ate fish-and-chips (most of which ended up inside dive-bombing seagulls) and sat reading in front of the log fire during the evening.

"Do we have to go back?" Christine asked, leaning her head against Raoul's knee as he read the paper they'd picked up from a small newsagent.

"No."

"So we can just stay here?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'll call Phil and tell him to hire a new manager." Raoul lowered the paper and reached for his phone. Christine gave a light chuckle, patting his knee and then resting her chin on it, looking up at him. His fingers stroked gently along her jaw line as he watched her, a faint smile on his lips.

"One day we will. We'll just pack it all in, leave it all behind, get in the car and just drive until we feel like stopping. We can go anywhere you want." He promised and she kissed his fingers, heart aching.

* * *

They left at midday, driving with the radio turned on loudly to 'the best of the 80's'. Christine could tell that Raoul was trying his hardest to keep her spirits lifted. It was needed, for she could feel the dread of the Opera House descending on her like a dark cloud. No sooner had they pulled into their street when Raoul's phone began to ring and he handed it to Christine to answer. It was his office, his secretary sounding absolutely apologetic for bothering them at the weekend, but every computer system had managed to crash, leaving them completely unprepared for an incredibly important meeting the next day. Raoul merely chuckled, running hand though his hair.

"Right, I'm on my way. I've got all the backups for the meeting in my office, everything else will have to wait until the IT team come in tomorrow." He waved to Christine, heading for the door, "I'll be home for dinner, sweetheart."

The servants were nowhere to be seen, Raoul having given them the weekend off. Christine dropped her overnight bag by the hall table and stretched, kicking off her shoes and burying her toes into the plush carpet as she turned on the lights. The soft glow filled the hallway, giving it a homey feel that she sometimes felt it lacked.

Raoul would be gone for at least an hour and now she was back in this familiar place, the task that she needed to fulfil for the next day was weighing heavily on her mind. Reluctantly she went to the little parlour at the end of the hallway where a piano sat, usually not played for great lengths of time.

For some reason, feeling like a guilty child, she crossed to the piano and played a quick scale, testing her voice. Pleasingly, it was steady and clear. She spent several minutes running through scales, remembering the patterns that Erik had used at their last lesson.

Just the thought of his name sent a shudder through her and she forced herself to take a deep breath, eying the aria that was perched innocently on the music stand. She knew it well, _The Magic Flute_ had been a favourite for years. But now whenever she considered the music, it was played with long, bony fingers, curiously golden eyes on hers as the song flowed from her lips.

"_Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden,_

_Ewig hin der Liebe Glück!"_

Her voice strained by the end of the second line and she stopped, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When Raoul came home, two hours later, she had sung the song through twice without error. She hadn't even realised he was back until she finished the aria on a clear, quavering note and light applause sounded behind her. He was grinning wildly, looking desperately tired but delighted.

"Christine, that was wonderful. It's been so long since I heard you sing." She smiled faintly and sipped at her water.

"I… felt like it." She murmured, a little ashamed to have been caught; it had been an intensely private moment, and she was equally ashamed that she didn't want Raoul involved. She held out her arms and he stepped into them, embracing her tightly.

"It was good to hear you again." He mumbled into her hair, squeezing her, "It's been too long."

"I don't know how long it'll last for, but it feels… it feels good. Feels like home." She replied softly, desperately clinging to the idea that music was something that was safe, was something that belonged in her warm home and in a job that she adored. But that concept was slipping away with every passing note and she was both anxious for and dreading her music lesson the next evening.

* * *

There was no note waiting on her desk; there was no need for one, anything that needed to be said could wait until that evening because they both knew that she would be there. Christine had already told Raoul she'd be home late, saying that she wanted to catch up on paperwork. He'd been fine with it, preoccupied by the meeting he had to prepare for, let alone reinstalling all the computers in the office. So at six thirty that evening, after everyone else had left, Christine paced the small music room nervously, humming occasionally to test her voice and flicking her fingers like a nervous twitch.

She felt his presence before she heard him, a chill settling over the room and creeping up her spine.

"Good evening, Christine. Let us begin."

And with that he settled at the piano without another word. Christine hesitated for a split second before launching into her scales, knowing that an argument would not be worth the risk at that moment.

For an hour, Erik trained her, her voice rising and falling, swelling to great proportions before fading to little more than a whisper as they went through the aria. Eventually his fingers fell still on the keys and he turned to gaze at her with his piercing golden eyes. Christine dropped her gaze to her hands, unwilling to look at him, unwilling to admit that she loved how her voice sounded when he was with her.

"You have practised."

"Yes." She murmured the confirmation and he stood, closing the lid of the piano keys with the gentleness of a lover before turning to face her again. Christine kept her eyes on the floor, lifting her arms to wrap them around her middle, an ineffective cage against his spell. He let out a soft sigh and his hand lifted towards her as though to touch her face but her eyes flickered to his in mild alarm and he dropped it abruptly.

"Wednesday. The same time. Practise tomorrow, you must be as close to perfection as possible."

"Yes."

He turned to leave and her breath caught in her throat as she tried to summon the courage to ask about the terrifying scene that had played out in the cellar. The small noise caught his attention and he turned back to her, his black hair a sharp contrast to the paleness of his chin, the only visible skin of his face. Christine swallowed hard and steeled herself.

"I-in…. in the cellar, I saw… there was-"

"It was a warning." Erik said darkly, "And you should pay heed to it."

"Would it have hurt me?"

"No." His answer was instantaneous but loaded with meaning. Christine frowned.

"If someone else had gone down there?"

"I make no guarantees for the safety of anyone else in this opera house."

"Not even Mrs Giry?"

"Everyone is dispensable." He said dismissively and again, his eyes fixed on hers, "Everyone but you."

She knew then. Her life was his. Her future and her dreams were in his hands and she could not comprehend any possible escape. She shuddered and tears filled her eyes. She turned away, not wanting to share this revelation and blinked back the moisture as she stared at the wall. The understanding of how far she had fallen into his trap was only now occurring to her.

He moved to stand behind her, not touching because he never touched her apart from the times he had drugged her in his home. But there was a strange tension between them, like a tight piece of rope stretched from her to him and binding them permanently so that wherever he went, she would be forced to follow.

"You will _shine_, Christine." He murmured, his voice beautiful and soft, "I will put you before the world and they will be humbled by you."

"If I shine, it is because you have polished me. It is your talent and I can't take credit. Everything I am is what you have made me and it is _you_ that should be put before the world." She wanted him to realise his own talent and leave hers be, to encourage him to take what he had and use it instead of forcing her into this play of his own design.

Erik hissed quietly and she stiffened, afraid again but when she dared to glimpse him over her shoulder, his eyes were closed as though in agony.

"If I were put before the world, I would be feared and hated as you fear and hate me. I will, as you say, polish you but you are the diamond and I can only work with the materials given to me. Accept your status, Christine."

She half-turned in time to see him walking to the vent. Launching himself into the air, Erik crawled into the vent, with the promise of Wednesday's lesson ringing in her ears.

* * *

**A/N: I can't believe people are still reading this! Many, many thanks for the support, it makes me all giddy inside!**

**Much love**

**Katie**


	17. Chapter 17

**Behind Closed Doors**

Preparations continued for _The Magic Flute._ Christine tapped away at her computer, sending emails to the advertisers. With the newest opera due to open in a week, it seemed that everything had been left until the last minute. Meanwhile, with _Romeo and Juliet_ drawing to a close, there was also a celebration to prepare for its finish. There was to be a party the next night, Friday, and Christine had already fielded calls from the caterer and decorators, passing them on to Moncharmin and Firmin.

The phone began to ring again and Christine answered with a sigh.

"Christine de Chagny."

"Hello, sweetheart." She smiled at Raoul's voice, "I think I'm going to be late tonight. How do you feel about takeaway? I'll pick it up on the way home."

"Sounds perfect. I need to stay a little later than usual today too."

"Chinese?" Raoul offered and Christine's eyes went to her computer as another email popped up in her inbox.

"That's fine. I'll text you when I leave."

"Love you."

"Love you too." She smiled, hanging up.

She would be late because tonight was another lesson with Erik.

* * *

Christine managed to stay hidden in her office for most of the day but a panicked Firmin appeared in her doorway close to three o'clock.

"It's Carlotta, Mrs de Chagny."

"Isn't it always?" Christine said dryly. She stood from her desk, walking past Firmin. Her heels clicked against the marble floors as she made her way to the auditorium, watching in despair as Carlotta shrieked at a seamstress. The diva's eyes settled on the manager.

"This is an outrage!"

"What is?" Christine asked, approaching the stage and climbing the temporary steps that were set up by its side. Mr Reyer, the conductor, gave Christine an apologetic look.

"Someone has been in my dressing room!" Carlotta raged, "My perfume is missing, several of my treasures are gone! One of your staff is a thief!"

"I would be careful of making accusations, Carlotta." Christine warned her, "You can't take such things back easily."

"Why would I take it back? Find this thief or I shall leave!" Carlotta spat.

Christine gave a heavy sigh before turning and walking off stage. Carlotta, Firmin and Moncharmin followed. Christine ignored the titters of the ballerinas and other performers as she walked into Carlotta's dressing room. Her eyes scanned the surfaces.

"Perhaps you can tell me in detail exactly what is missing?" She suggested and Carlotta huffed, gesturing to the dressing table.

"My perfume! It…" Carlotta's voice trailed away. An innocent looking glass bottle was sat beside the mirror. Christine arched her eyebrow.

"It seems to have been recovered. How fortunate. Is there anything else missing?"

Carlotta tugged open the drawers of the table before sitting down silently and staring at Christine's reflection in the mirror with an arrogant expression.

"Clearly the felon has come to their senses."

"Clearly. If there is nothing else troubling you, I will be in my office." Christine told her and Carlotta gave a little huff.

"We shall so. I deserve much more respect. What is an opera without its star?"

"Indeed." Christine muttered to herself. She gestured to Moncharmin and he sidled up to her, "Please ensure that she is kept occupied. I have more than enough to be getting on with, without her temper tantrums."

"Of course, Mrs de Chagny." Moncharmin murmured in chagrin.

* * *

Christine sat in the practise room, her eyes fixed on the door. Erik was due to arrive at any moment and though she knew he would not come through the door, she liked having it in her line of sight. It was comforting to know that there was a physical exit.

There was a soft scuffle above her and Christine lifted her eyes to the vent. Erik fell to the floor gracefully, catlike motions giving him fluidity that the average man lacked. He met her gaze and his mouth curled into a smirk.

"Good afternoon, Christine."

"Good afternoon."

"Shall we begin?"

He seated himself at the piano and Christine stood a few paces away, keeping her gaze from him. They began with scales and Christine closed her eyes, allowing herself the pleasure that came with perfect notes that lingered and mixed in the air, more potent than any drug.

Erik barely spoke, beginning the introduction for Pamina's aria and Christine felt herself enter that strange, half-waking place that she had only entered when in Erik's presence, when the music became more than sounds but a reality that only they two existed in. The song wrapped around her, silk strands, sorrowful and beautiful as the character mourned her lover's refusal to speak to her.

She suddenly became aware that the piano accompaniment had ceased. Her voice stuck in her throat and though her eyes were closed, she knew that Erik was stood in front of her. Cool fingers slid across her cheeks, wiping away tears that she hadn't known were there. Christine's eyes flickered open and she stared up at the masked face as pale digits wiped away the last remains of moisture.

It was the first time that Erik had initiated contact with her since she had left his home.

"That was truly exquisite." Erik murmured and Christine swallowed as he turned, his golden eyes hidden from hers as he closed the piano lid, "You are ready."

"Ready…?" Christine breathed and then shook her head. But she dared not voice her argument, Raoul's face in her mind.

"There is a week before _The Magic Flute_ premieres." Erik noted quietly, "You must be prepared."

"Have you been toying with Carlotta?" Christine asked, her senses returning to her. The spell that had weaved it's way around her was breaking and she blinked, turning to look at him as he slid his gloves on.

"She is a child and children enjoy toys."

"That's not what I meant." Christine said tiredly, "It's unnecessary. She's an able singer."

"She is past her prime and to compare her singing to yours is a crime." Erik said frankly, patting his hair as he straightened his collar.

Christine was silent. Arguing did not seem like a viable option. Erik turned his curious eyes on her. She stared back at him and he tilted his head.

"You are very withdrawn this evening. You've not argued with me at all."

Christine was quiet for a long time.

"I'm a little tired, I suppose." She said eventually, "Preparing for _The Magic Flute_ and finishing _Romeo and Juliet_. It's been a long week."

"The last show of _Romeo and Juliet_ is tomorrow. You should spend the week devoting yourself to perfecting the part of Pamina." Erik said decidedly, "I shall meet with you on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Saturday, on opening night, you will perform."

She would not. Christine was decided on that matter but didn't bother to speak her mind.

Erik seemed to notice her silence and smirked again.

"Do remember, Christine, what is at stake. Your husband will be at the opening night, will he not?"

Christine's heart pounded and Erik stepped closer. His presence felt like an electrical charge that danced across her skin and his leatherbound fingers caught her chin, forcing her to look up at his masked countenance.

"Your soul is mine, Christine de Chagny. You must never forget that. Your voice is mine and your soul. You have taken my music, have been to my home and in return, I own you. The boy is of no consequence to me, as I have already informed you. Why try to resist?"

He gave a soft sigh and his stance turned from threatening to something else… adoring? Alluring? Christine couldn't take her eyes from him as his fingers traced from her chin to cheekbone, fingertips brushing her skin.

"Your voice… you understand, don't you Christine? The power you have is beyond that of man, it is heavenly. Such a gift… such beauty… in a world as hideous as this, do you not understand how much it requires your beauty?"

Yellow skin stretched across a skull… rotting lumps of flesh… sunken eyes. Christine squeezed her eyes shut but the images flashed across her eyelids. Erik's hands fell away from her face and when she looked up, he was gone.

* * *

Christine arrived home moments before Raoul. She changed in their bedroom, pulling on her pyjamas, long soft trousers and a camisole top before going to sit in the living room, awaiting his return. He carried in a plate of Chinese food, setting on the little table beside her. His tie was done and the top button of shirt undone.

Christine watched in silence as he began to eat, talking about his day. After a few moments, he looked up at her and she examined his face. His long straight nose, clear blue eyes, thick blond hair. He was so handsome and Christine wondered a world that could create two so different men. One so beautiful and one so wretched that her heart ached at the thought of him.

"Are you alright?" Raoul asked, his hand resting on her thigh. Christine nodded, reaching for her plate.

"Tired, I think. I'm ready for _Romeo and Juliet_ to finish." She twisted sideways, stretching across the sofa with the plate in her lap. Raoul smiled from his seat in the armchair.

"Are you excited about _The Magic Flute_? I think Phil wants to come and see it soon."

"See the opera or see a certain dancer?" Christine asked wryly and Raoul laughed.

"He's not subtle, is he? He's flying over next Thursday, ready for the opening night on Saturday."

"Subtlety is not a de Chagny trait." Christine teased and her husband gave her a mocking look.

"Wicked girl."

They finished dinner and went to bed. When Christine had finished in the bathroom, she found Raoul lying in bed, reading a book. She slipped in beside him, leaning over to rest her head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and she closed her eyes listening to it.

This heart would remain beating only so long as she obeyed Erik. He had already killed once. Only her obedience would stay his hand.

Christine would perform in _The Magic Flute_. She had no choice. She didn't know how, but something would happen in order to make her perform.

However, Christine thought sleepily, he had made no conditions upon the length of her performance. Perhaps the opening night would suffice…? She doubted it.

Raoul's hands slid across her waist as she shifted her head to meet his lips.

For this man, her husband, she would perform. Anything to keep his heart beating.

* * *

**A/N: Hello darlings. I love, love, love the reviews that you have left! I'm so glad that people are still reading and enjoying this story. Come and tweet with me sometime, user name is Kat097 there too.**

**Much love**

**Katie**


	18. Chapter 18

**Behind Closed Doors**

The free week between the end of _Romeo and Juliet_ and the start of _The Magic Flute_ was, in a word, manic. Christine worked through every lunch break and even when she made it home, spent most evenings on the telephone trying to resolve issues for the opening night.

The only thing that remained unchanging were her lessons with Erik. She made no excuses, put up no argument to his insistence that she would perform. She sang obediently, like a caged bird, trained to perform. Erik was pleased and Raoul remained safe.

Christine, on the other hand, had never been less relaxed. Even her sleep was disturbed and more than once she had jerked awake, lying next to Raoul and watching him sleep.

_Keep him safe._

It had become her mantra. Keep Raoul safe, that was all that mattered now.

Friday arrived and brought Phil with it. He arrived late on Thursday night, so Christine didn't see him until breakfast on Friday morning.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you do with the production." He told her cheerfully as she poured him coffee. He paused, examining her face closely, "Are you alright, Christine? You look… tired."

Christine hesitated as Raoul's eyes darted to her face, noticing not for the first time, the dark circles beneath her eyes. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

"I'm fine. You know what it's like, trying to get a new show up and running. It would help if Carlotta wasn't having temper tantrums every five minutes."

"At least the Opera Ghost isn't harassing you as well." Phil joked, "Maybe he's retired."

"Well, the ballerinas are insisting that he's responsible for Carlotta's tantrums, so perhaps he has merely directed his attentions elsewhere." Raoul said teasingly as Christine scraped butter across a piece of toast.

She was saved coming up with an answer by her phone ringing again. She answered swiftly, wiping her mouth with a serviette.

"Hello?"

"Mrs de Chagny, there is a slight issue with the programmes."

"Good morning to you too, Firmin. What's the problem?" Christine rose from the table, not wishing to disturb breakfast.

"They're maroon. I know that you specifically requested that they be burgundy in colour." Firmin's voice was distraught with tension and Christine pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It's too later to alter them now, we open tomorrow night. We'll have to keep them. Inform the printers of the error and see if you can at least get some kind of refund or discount off our next order."

"Yes, Mrs de Chagny."

She hung up and went back to the table. Raoul smiled at her.

"Anything wrong?"

"The programmes are the wrong shade of red, apparently, and Firmin expects me to perform a miracle."

"Is it that damned Opera Ghost up to tricks again?" Phil teased and Christine gave him a thin-lipped smile as she lifted her teacup. Raoul shook his head.

"Catch up, Phil, it's the Phantom of the Opera now."

"My apologies. If I see any ghostly apparitions tomorrow night, I'll be sure to apologise and ask him which he prefers."

Christine could only imagine Erik's reaction to Phil and winced, reaching for a piece of toast.

* * *

Rehearsals the day before an opening never seemed to go well. Every person in the opera house was tense and silly mistakes happened over and over. Mrs Giry snapped at the dancers, Mr Reyer hissed at the orchestra and Christine massaged her temples as Carlotta spat at her co-star.

Firmin appeared at her elbow, nervous and his moustache twitching. He tapped his fingers together.

"Mr Reyer wants to know if they can break for lunch soon… everyone is a little…" He waved generally in the direction of the stage, where Jammes and Sorelli were screeching at each other whilst Meg hung back.

"Tell him to have Carlotta sing her aria and then break for an hour." She said and he vanished to tell Reyer.

A warm hand touched Christine's elbow and she turned to see Raoul smiling.

"Thought I'd surprise you for a lunch date."

"Is Phil driving you crazy already?"

"Of course, what are brothers for? He's having a wander around, I think he's waiting for Sorelli to finish so that he can take her to lunch."

"We'll be just a few minutes." She assured him, leading him down the aisle.

The relief was palpable throughout the room as Carlotta took her place, lifting her chin to stare out across the room. Christine moved down the aisle as the orchestra began their part. The ballerinas moved silently around the edges of the stage, collecting their things as Carlotta began her song.

Again, Christine listened carefully and her heart sank. Still those notes that weren't quite perfect, not as sweet and crisp as they could have been.

Erik would be listening and he would not be pleased.

Raoul's fingers laced through hers and Christine turned her head to offer him a smile. In the split second that she looked away, something happened. There was a thud, a gasp, a scream and when Christine's eyes made it back to the stage, Carlotta was lying on the stage. One of the screens had fallen, the countryside painted on to it swaying back and forth. There were shouts and both Christine and Raoul ran to the stage as Carlotta screeched, on her hands and knees. Raoul knelt to help lift the signer as Christine stared up at the flies, trying to figure out how the screen had fallen.

"Is anyone up there?" She shouted but Tim, the supervisor, appeared at her side, pale.

"There's no one up there, the stagehands have already gone for lunch. I swear, Mrs de Chagny, there's no one up there."

There was. Someone had released the screen. The screens were secured and had to be manually released and braked by hand.

Christine knew exactly who had done it. The blood drained from her face and she turned quickly to Carlotta, who was still shrieking.

"I could have died!" She screamed, shaking off Raoul's comforting arm. Christine moved forward.

"Carlotta, please. Can somebody bring her a seat?"

Carlotta sneered at the manager.

"You think I'm going to stay here? It has been made abundantly clear, Mrs de Chagny, that I am not welcome here! I will not stand for this abuse any longer! I am leaving and until you can guarantee my personal safety, I shall not return!"

Without further ado, Carlotta swept from the stage, leaving a stunned company behind her.

Christine understood now, understood Erik's plan. With no star, no lead singer, the opera would not be able to open. All Christine could do now would be to threaten Carlotta with legal action for breaking her contract and that would take time, time they didn't have. _The Magic Flute_ was due to open in a little over twenty-four hours. Delaying the opening would cost a fortune and not an option.

"Mrs de Chagny, what can we do?" Mr Reyer's voice was choked. Christine swallowed hard in the deathly silence as the ballerinas and chorus stood around, all as shocked as she was.

"I'll… I'll talk to her. I can convince her to come back, I _can-_"

"And if she refuses?" Mrs Giry's voice broke the silence and all eyes turned to her.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place as Christine met Mrs Giry's eye. The shadow of their _mutual acquaintance_ hung between them.

Christine opened her mouth to stop the words that Mrs Giry was about to speak.

"You could sing the part, Mrs de Chagny."

She was too late.

All of those eyes turned to Christine instead and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raoul's face light up.

"There's an idea-"

"Raoul, no." Christine whispered.

"You're a wonderful singer, you've been practising again."

_Oh no, oh God, please, no_-

"I can't!" She cried and Mrs Giry's hand caught her elbow. The older woman stared at her and Christine recognised her own fear in her eyes.

Fear for another.

What was Erik holding over Mrs Giry's head?

"Mrs de Chagny, we don't have a choice." She said softly and no one listening could have recognised the depth of truth in her words. Christine stared back and they were still, sorrowful figures among the bustle of the crowd.

Mr Reyer cleared his throat delicately.

"Mrs de Chagny… if perhaps we could hear you…?"

Christine looked around, desperate for someone to call a halt to this madness, to see how ridiculous the situation was and her eyes landed on Raoul. He was smiling, delighted for her, handsome and kind and sweet and in danger.

Because Erik was watching.

Erik was here.

Erik was waiting.

Christine stepped forward and everyone melted away. Her eyes focused on Reyer as he began to conduct the orchestra. The song began, the music seeping into her skin, coating her like fog and honey, and she hated how her heart began to race and joy filled her heart as she began to sing.

For those watching, Christine de Chagny was transformed as she began to sing. Her official suit fell away, replaced with softness and beauty that can only be achieved through the expression of art. She became Pamina, mourning her lover and they were in awe of her.

High above, in the beams of the Opera House, a shadow gave a sigh of satisfaction and delight as His diamond shone.

As the song faded away, Christine's mind was already whirring.

Erik had demanded that she sing and so she would. She would sing the opening night and do everything in her power to get Carlotta back for further performances.

She would have kept her end of the bargain and Raoul would be safe.

As the chorus gathered around her, delighting in her triumph, Christine's eyes sought out Raoul. He smiled back and she knew that she would do anything to keep him blissfully unaware of the danger that he was in.

**A/N: I swear, I WILL finish this story! **


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